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Lord Thomas and Fair Annet

One of many versions from the British Isles.
The story is closely related to Fair Ellender.

    Lord Thomas and fair Annet
    Sat all day on a hill
    When night was come and sun was set
    They had not talked their fill.

    Lord Thomas said a word in haste
    And Annet took it ill;
    I winna wed a dowerless maid
    Against my parents' will

    You're come of the rich, Thomas,
    And I'm come of the poor
    I'm o'er low to be your bride
    And I winna be your whore

    O fair Annet, O fair Annet
    This night you've said me no
    But long or ever this day month
    I'll make your heart right woe

    Come riddle my riddle dear mother, he said
    Come riddle it all in one
    Whether I will take fair Annet
    Or bring the brown girl home

    The nut-brown maid has gold and gear
    Fair Annet she has none
    And the little beauty fair Annet has
    O it will soon be gone

    Sheep will die in cots, mother
    And oxen die in byre
    And what's this world's wealth to me
    An I get not my heart's desire

    Where will I get a pretty little boy
    That'll run my errands soon
    That will run to fair Annet's bower
    And bid her to my wedding

    She mauna put on the black, the black
    Nor yet the dowie brown
    But the scarlet so red, and the kerchief so white
    And her bonny locks hanging down

    She has called her maries to her bower
    To lay gold in her hair
    Where'er you put a plait before
    See you lay ten times more

    When Annet was in her saddle set
    She flamed against the fire
    The girdle around her middle small
    Was worth an earl's hire

    The horse fair Annet rode upon
    He bounded like the wind
    With silver he was shod before
    With burning gold behind

    And when she came into the kirk
    She shimmered like the sun
    The belt that was about her waist
    Was all with pearls bedone

    Is this your bride, Lord Thomas ? she said
    I think she's wondrous brown
    You might have had as fair a bride
    As e'er the sun shined on

    Despise her not fair Annet, he said
    Despise her not now unto me
    For better I love thy little finger
    Than all her whole body

    Then out and spoke the nut-brown bride
    And she spoke out of spite
    O where got you that rose-water
    That washed your face so white ?

    O I did get the rose-water
    Where you will ne'er get none
    For I did get that rose-water
    Into my mother's womb

    The bride she drew a long bodkin
    From out her gay headgear
    And struck fair Annet to the heart
    A deep wound and a sair

    O art thou blind Lord Thomas, she said
    Or do you not well see
    O do you not see my own heart's blood
    Run trinkling down my knee ?

    He drew his dagger that was so sharp
    That was so sharp and meet
    And drove it into the nut-brown bride
    That fell dead at his feet

    O dig my grave, Lord Thomas he said
    Dig it both wide and deep
    And lay fair Annet by my side
    And the brown girl at my feet

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