Geordie, or My Geordie Will Be Hanged In A Golden Chain

Originale

1. LA “VERSIONE DI ROBERT BURNS” - 1792, Scottish Musical Mus...

GEORDIE, OR MY GEORDIE WILL BE HANGED IN A GOLDEN CHAIN As I walked out over London Bridge one misty morning early, I overheard a fair pretty maid, was lamenting for her Geordie. Ah, my Geordie will be hanged in a golden chain, 'tis not the chain of many. He was born of king's royal breed and lost to a virtuous lady. Go bridle me my milk white steed, go bridle me my pony, I will ride to London's court to plead for the life of Geordie. Ah my Geordie never stole nor cow, nor calf, he never hurted any, stole sixteen of the king's royal deer, and he sold them in Bohenny. Two pretty babies have I born, the third lies in my body, I'd freely part with them every one if you'd spare the life of Geordie. The judge looked over his left shoulder, he said: Fair maid, I am sorry, he said: Fair maid, you must be gone for I cannot pardon Geordie. Ah my Geordie will be hanged in a golden chain, 'tis not the chain of many, stole sixteen of the king's royal deer, and he sold them in Bohenny.

GEORDIE, OR MY GEORDIE WILL BE HANGED IN A GOLDEN CHAIN There was a battle in the north, And nobles there was many, And they hae kill’d Sir Charlie Hay, And they laid the wyte on Geordie. O he has written a lang letter, He sent it to his lady; “Ye maun cum up to Enbrugh town To see what words o’ Geordie.” When first she look’d the letter on, She was baith red and rosy; But she had na read a word but twa, Till she wallow’t like a lily. “Gar get to me my gude grey steed, My menzie a’ gae wi’ me; For I shall neither eat nor drink, Till Enbrugh town shall see me.” And she has mountit her gude grey steed, Her menzie a’ gaed wi’ her; And she did neither eat nor drink Till Enbrugh town did see her. And first appear’d the fatal block, And syne the aix to head him; And Geordie cumin down the stair, And bands o’ airn upon him. But tho’ he was chain’d in fetters strang, O’ airn and steel sae heavy, There was na ane in a’ the court, Sae bra’ a man as Geordie. O she’s down on her bended knee, I wat she’s pale and weary, “O pardon, pardon, noble king, And gie me back my Dearie! I hae born seven sons to my Geordie dear, The seventh ne’er saw his daddie: O pardon, pardon, noble king, Pity a waefu’ lady!” “Gar bid the headin-man mak haste!” Our king reply’d fu’ lordly: “O noble king, tak a’ that’s mine, But gie me back my Geordie.” The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran, And they were stark and steady; And ay the word amang them a’ Was, Gordons keep you ready. An aged lord at the king’s right hand Says, “Noble king, but hear me; Gar her tell down five thousand pound And gie her back her Dearie.” Some gae her marks, some gae her crowns, Some gae her dollars many; And she’s tell’d down five thousand pound, And she’s gotten again her Dearie. She blinkit blythe in her Geordie’s face, Says, “dear I’ve bought thee, Geordie: But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green, Or I had tint my laddie. He claspit her by the middle sma’, And he kist her lips sae rosy: “The fairest flower o’ woman-kind Is my sweet, bonie Lady!”