False Sir John- Margaret Christie (Aber) c.1875 Carpenter
[Version of Child 4 from James Madison Carpenter Collection, JMC/1/8/1/B, p. 11506. Inconsistent dialect, Mrs James Christie (Mrs. Margaret Christie) also sing a different variant of Child 4.
R. Matteson 2018]
False Sir John- sung by Mrs James Christie (b. 1863), 9 Newton Hill, Scotland, collected circa 1830. Margaret learned this from mother, Jean Christie, 40 Newton Hill, born in 1833 - see also Isabella Christie, 1826. Related to Peter Christie.
1. Fause Sir John has gone from home,
To view the king's dochter in Spain,
He's courted her for seven long years
And has her favors gained.
2 Ye'll tak some of yer father's gold.
And some of his white [wife's] money,
And ye'll tak yen o yer father's white staigs
Faur there lies thirty-three.
3 And she's taen some o' her father's gold.
And some o' his white[wife's] money,
And she took yen o' her father's white staigs
Faur there lay thirty-three.
4 She mounted on upon her white staig,
And they rode by the light o the moon,
Until they come to Northumberland's water,
And there they lighted doon.
5 "Ye'll tak off that goon o silk,
And spread it on yonder steen,
For it is too good an' too costly a robe
To travel the saut sea sand.
6 "Ye'll turn ye roon, ye Fause Sir John,
And you'll pull the green leaves o' the tree,
For it does nae become a single man,
A naked woman to see."
7 He turned himself right roon aboot,
To pull the green leaves o' the tree;
She's taen him in her arms twa
And she's thrown him in the sea.
8 "Ye'll lie there, ye False Sir John,
Lie there as well as me;
You was to drown me as sure as I was born
But your clothes can go with thee."
9 She's mounted on her milk white steed,
And she rode by the light o' the moon,
Until she came to her father's gate
And there she lichted doon.
10 She put the white steed in its stable,
And the money where it did lie,
And straight she went to her bed chamber
Where her father did lie.
11. [Parrot:] "Where now's this Fause Sir John
That he's walking wi' thee."
"Hide weel, hide weel, my pretty parrot,
Great secrets hide on me;
Your cage shall be o the beaten gowd,
And your wings of ivory."
12. Up speaks her old father,
And a bold, bold man was he,
"What said ye, my pretty parrot,
That you're prattling a' the day?"
13 Up speaks her old mother,
And a gay old woman was she,
"You'll rue, you'll rue, my pretty daughter,
You'll rue that you've gane away."