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Why weep ye by the tide, Lady,
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride,
And ye shall be his bride, Lady,
Se comely to be seen,
By ay she's let the tears down fa',
For Jock of Hazeldean
Noo let this wilfu' grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale,
Young Frank is chief or Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale.
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen,
But ay she's let the tears down fa',
For Jock of Hazeldean.
A chain o' gowd ye shall na lack,
Nor braid to bind your hair,
Not mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair.
And ye the fairest o' them a',
Shall ride our forest queen,
But ay she's let the tears down fa',
For Jock of Hazeldean
