Lady Margaret- Knuckles (KY) 1917 Sharp A
[My title. From English Folk Songs From the Southern Appalachians, I; 1932, Sharp/Karpeles.
R. Matteson 2012, 2014]
A. "Lady Margaret"- Sung by Mrs. DELIE KNUCKLES at Barbourville, Knox Co., Ky, May 16, 1917; Sharp A
1 My Lady Margaret sitting in her own chamber a-weeping,
Her father and mother's a-gathering wood
To burn her poor body.
2 I wish I had some pretty little boy,
Some one to go an errand for me.
Downstairs came her oldest brother's son,
He stepped across the floor,
Saying : A many an errand have I went,
Lady Margaret, one for you I'll run.
3 Go down, go down to my young lord
And tell him my mother and father's gathering wood
To burn my poor body.
4 And here I'll send him my ring,
In hopes that he might mourn after me,
But come to my burial.
5 And here I send my glove,
In hopes that he might mourn after me,
But seek him another true love.
6 He run, he run, he run and he walked,
He run till he came to the broad water's side,
Then he caught his breath and he swum.
7 He swum till he came to the other shore,
Then he took to the banks and he run;
And he run till he came to the young lord's gate,
And dingled on the ring.
No one so ready as the young lord himself
For to rise and let him in.
8 What news, what news, my pretty little boy?
Is any of my fiery furnace burned down?
Or is my still over-run?
Or has my pretty, fair Miss brought to me
A daughter or a son?
9 Your fiery furnace is not burned down,
Your stills are neither over-run;
Your pretty, fair Miss's father and mother's gathering wood
To burn her poor body.
10 And here she sends you her ring,
In hopes that you might mourn after her,
But come to her burial.
11 And here she sends you her glove,
In hopes that you might mourn after her,
But seek you another true love.
12 Go saddle to me the next speed-horse,
Go saddle to me the brown,
Go saddle to me the finest horse
That ever trod the ground.
13 He hung his horn bugle round his neck,
His sword went dragging the ground;
As he rode round them all open fields,
He made his bugle sound.
14 O mother, O mother, I fear you not,
I fear you not one straw,
For I hear my young lord,
I heard his bugle sound.
15 They tied her high and fast to the stake,
And rushed the fire around.
As he rode nigh to the place
He mounted on the ground.
16 He tore her body from the stake
And clasped it in his arms.
Says: Til first kiss her red, rosy cheeks,
Then kiss her cherry chin;
I'll kiss your ruby lips
That'll never kiss mine again.
17 He called for a chair he may sit down,
A pen to write his will.
He willed her oldest brother's son
Of all his house and still.