"I've been porter at your gates,
It's now for thirty years and three;
But the lovely lady that stands thereat,
The like o' her did I never see.

"For on every finger she has a ring,
And on her mid-finger she has three,
And meikle gold aboon her brow.
Sae fair a may did I never see."

It's out then spak the bride's mother,
And an angry woman, I wot, was she:
"Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
And twa or three of our companie."

"O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother,
Of all your folly let me be;
She's ten times fairer nor the bride,
And all that's in your companie.

"And this golden ring that's broken in twa,
This half o' a golden ring sends she:
'Ye'll carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says,
'And bid him come an' speak wi' me.'

"She begs one sheave of your white bread,
But and a cup of your red wine,
And to remember the lady's love
That last relieved you out of pine."