The Rigs Of Rye

'Twas in the month of sweet July,

Before the sun had pierced the sky;

Down between two rigs of rye

I heard two lovers talking.

Said he, "Lassie, I must away,

Along with you I cannot stay,

But I've a word or two to say

If you've the time to listen."

"Of your father he takes great care,

Your mother combs your yellow hair;

But your sisters say you'll get no share

If you follow me, a stranger."

"My father may fret and my mother may frown,

My sisters too I do disown;

If they were all dead and below the ground

I would follow you, a stranger."

"Oh lassie, lassie, your portion's small,

Perhaps it may be none at all.

You're not a match for me at all

So go and wed with some other."

The lassie's courage began to fail,

Her rosy cheeks grew wan and pale;

And the tears come trickling down like hail,

Or a heavy shower in the summer.

This lad he being of courage fine,

He's dried her tears and he's kissed her eyes,

Saying, "Weep no more lass, you shall be mine,

I said it all to try you."

This couple they are married now,

And they have bairnies one and two;

And they live in Brechin the winter through,

Aye, and in Montrose in summer.