Lyrics of 'Lord Thomas Of Winesberry And' by Barbara Dickson

For more than seven years the king he staid
Into the land of Spain,
And seven years True Thomas was
His daughter's chamberlain.

'What aileth you, my daughter Janet,
You look sae pale and wan?
Ye've either been sick, and very, very sick,
Or else ye hae lain wi a man.
Or else ye hae lain wi a man.'

'There is no dreder in my heart,
Nor do I love a man;
But it is for your lang, lang byding awae
Into the land of Spain.'

'Ye'll cast aff your bonny brown gown,
And lay it on a stone,
And I'll tell ye, my dear Janet,
If ever ye loved a man.'

She's cast aff her bonny brown gown,
And laid it on a stone;
Her belly it was big, her twa sides high,
Her colour it was quite gane.

'O is it to a man and a man o' might,
'Or is it to a man that's mean?
O it is to Thomas o Winsberry,
That cannae longer len.'

'O where are all my wall-wight men,
That I pay meat and fee,
That will gae for Thomas o Winesberry,
And bring him here to me?
High hanged he shall be.'

She's turnd her right and round about,
The tears blinded her ee:
'If ye do any ill to True Thomas,
Ye'll never get gude o me.'

When Thomas came before the king
He glanced like the fire;
His hair was like the threads o gold,
His eyes like crystal clear.

'It was nae wonder, my daughter Janet,
Altho ye loved this man;
If he were a woman, as he is a man,
My bed-fellow he would been.
My bed-fellow he would been.'

'O will ye marry my daughter Janet?
The truth's in your right hand;
Ye's hae some o my gold, and some o my gear,
And the twelfth part o my land.'

'It's I will marry your daughter Janet;
The truth's in my right hand;
I'll hae nane o your gold, nor nane o your gear,
I've enough in my ane land.

'But I will marry your daughter Janet
With thirty ploughs and three,
And four and twenty bonny breast-mills,
All on the water o Dee.'
All on the water o Dee.'