Song | Bonnie Mae |
Artist | Solas |
Album | The Hour Before Dawn |
作词 : Traditional | |
Bonnie Mae a-shepherding has gone | |
To call the sheep to the fold | |
And aye, as she sang, her bonny voice, it rang | |
Right over the tops of the downs, downs | |
Over the tops of the downs | |
There came a troop of gentlemen | |
As they were riding by | |
And one of them has lighted down | |
And he's asked of her the way, the way | |
He's asked of her the way | |
"Ride on, ride on, you rank riders | |
Your steeds are stout and strong | |
For it's out of the fold I will not go | |
For fear you'll do me wrong, wrong | |
Fear you'll do me wrong" | |
Now he's taken her by the middle jip | |
And by the green gown sleeve | |
And there he's had his will of her | |
And he's asked of her no leave, no leave | |
He's asked of her no leave | |
"Oh I've ridden east and I've ridden west | |
And I've ridden o'er the downs | |
But the bonniest lass that ever I saw | |
Is calling her sheep to the fold" | |
She has taken the milk pail on her head | |
And she's gone lingering home | |
And all her father said to her | |
Was, "Daughter, you've done me wrong, wrong | |
Daughter, you've done me wrong" | |
Now twenty weeks were gone and past | |
Twenty weeks and three | |
And the lassie began to fret and to frown | |
And to long for his twinkling eye, bright eye | |
Long for his twinkling eye | |
Now it fell on a day, and a bonny summer's day | |
For she walked out alone | |
That selfsame troop of gentlemen | |
Came riding o'er the downs, downs | |
Riding o'er the downs | |
"Who got the babe with thee, Bonnie Mae? | |
Who got the babe in thy arms?" | |
For shame she blushed and aye, she said | |
"Oh I've a good man of my own" | |
"You lie, you lie, you bonny, bonny Mae | |
So loud I hear you lie | |
Remember the misty, murky night | |
I lay in the fold with thee, with thee | |
I lay in the fold with thee | |
Now he's lighted off his berry-brown steed | |
He's set the fair Mae on | |
"Go call out your fold, good father, yourself | |
She'll ne'er call them again, again | |
She'll ne'er call them again" | |
For he's the Lord of Achentrioch | |
With fifty plough and three | |
And he's taken away the bonniest lass | |
In all the south country, country | |
In all the south country |
zuò cí : Traditional | |
Bonnie Mae ashepherding has gone | |
To call the sheep to the fold | |
And aye, as she sang, her bonny voice, it rang | |
Right over the tops of the downs, downs | |
Over the tops of the downs | |
There came a troop of gentlemen | |
As they were riding by | |
And one of them has lighted down | |
And he' s asked of her the way, the way | |
He' s asked of her the way | |
" Ride on, ride on, you rank riders | |
Your steeds are stout and strong | |
For it' s out of the fold I will not go | |
For fear you' ll do me wrong, wrong | |
Fear you' ll do me wrong" | |
Now he' s taken her by the middle jip | |
And by the green gown sleeve | |
And there he' s had his will of her | |
And he' s asked of her no leave, no leave | |
He' s asked of her no leave | |
" Oh I' ve ridden east and I' ve ridden west | |
And I' ve ridden o' er the downs | |
But the bonniest lass that ever I saw | |
Is calling her sheep to the fold" | |
She has taken the milk pail on her head | |
And she' s gone lingering home | |
And all her father said to her | |
Was, " Daughter, you' ve done me wrong, wrong | |
Daughter, you' ve done me wrong" | |
Now twenty weeks were gone and past | |
Twenty weeks and three | |
And the lassie began to fret and to frown | |
And to long for his twinkling eye, bright eye | |
Long for his twinkling eye | |
Now it fell on a day, and a bonny summer' s day | |
For she walked out alone | |
That selfsame troop of gentlemen | |
Came riding o' er the downs, downs | |
Riding o' er the downs | |
" Who got the babe with thee, Bonnie Mae? | |
Who got the babe in thy arms?" | |
For shame she blushed and aye, she said | |
" Oh I' ve a good man of my own" | |
" You lie, you lie, you bonny, bonny Mae | |
So loud I hear you lie | |
Remember the misty, murky night | |
I lay in the fold with thee, with thee | |
I lay in the fold with thee | |
Now he' s lighted off his berrybrown steed | |
He' s set the fair Mae on | |
" Go call out your fold, good father, yourself | |
She' ll ne' er call them again, again | |
She' ll ne' er call them again" | |
For he' s the Lord of Achentrioch | |
With fifty plough and three | |
And he' s taken away the bonniest lass | |
In all the south country, country | |
In all the south country |