And dried on Dunnie's dyke.

"Tak' up and wear your rose, Thomas,
And wear't wi' meikle care;
For the woman sall never bear a son
That will mak' my heart sae sair."

When night was come, and day was gane,
And a' men boune to bed,
Lord Thomas and the nut-brown bride
In their chamber were laid.

They were na weel lyen down,
And scarcely fa'en asleep,
When up and stands she, fair Annet,
Just at Lord Thomas' feet.

"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
Between ye and the wa';
And sae will I o' my winding-sheet,
That suits me best of a'.

"Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride,
Between ye and the stock;
And sae will I o' my black, black kist,
That has neither key nor lock!"

Lord Thomas rase, put on his claes,
Drew till him hose and shoon;
And he is to fair Annet's bower,