Sir Andrew Wood- Herd (Scottish) 1769 Child A b.
[This, Child's A b., is an almost identical copy of A a. from Percy with the name changed to 'Sir Andrew Wood.'
Child says, "At the end of version B Herd says, 'The foundation of the preceding song seems to have been the same story with that under the title of 'Sir Andrew Wood' in the former volume [of 1769]. In the Relicks of Antient Poetry is a copy somewhat different from either.' We cannot suppose, after this, that Herd took his copy from Percy and altered it, and yet, excepting the variations noted above, and haff for have in 111, the copies are the same to a letter. If Herd's copy was one of the two used by Percy, what was the other? Was there, after all, but one copy again, as in the case of 'King Estmere'?" ]
Sir Andrew Wood- Herd (Scottish) 1769 Child A b.
b. Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 243.
1 The king sits in Dumferling toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
'O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?'
2 Up and spak an eldern knicht,
Sat at the kings richt kne:
'Sir Andrew Wood is the best sailor
That sails upon the se.'
3 The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Andrew Wood,
Was walking on the sand.
4 The first line that Sir Andrew red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Andrew red,
The teir blinded his ee.
5 'O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!
6 'Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne:'
'O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
7 'Late late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme.'
8 O our Scots nables wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
They wat thair heads aboone.
9 O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Andrew Wood
Cum sailing to the land.
10 O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.
11 Haff owre, haff owre to Aberdour,
It's fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Andrew Wood,
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.