Prince Margaret sat in a tower high And as pale as a milk white swan When she saw a on the plain Come her and the sun. "Oh, mother, is it a Or a flight of in the air, Or a black army a silver flag And a man amongst them there?" "Oh, daughter, go run in your little And bid to your flowers so gay. For yonder comes Heathen's men And I fear coming to take you away." In there come Prince then, saying "Good day to you. And will l find that sweet little bride With her hands as soft as dew?" Young Margaret locked her bower But his men made the hinges spring And in there come Prince then And to her a gay gold ring. at him the ring she flung She cries "Of you I no fear. I'll call you seven times Rather then you husband dear." He then, by her yellow hair, make her weep and call him dear. He's taken her in his two arms, And her on the cold stone floor. And when he set her again, Her from her he's ta'en: "Ha ha, bonny maid, you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." He's cast her down in a of stone forty locks did hang thereto. "Ha ha, bonny maid, you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." "Come, give my lady of the salt, meat, And bitter for her brew, "Ha ha, maid, will you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." Heathen down from the mountains came Where he'd been hunting his armoured men. He came unto this fair young All in the prison she is laid. "A drink, a drink, Heathen" she said. "Even if from the muddy well pool." "Never a drink! you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for thee." He's her by her yellow hair, And tied it to his tail. He's dragged her through the bushes and grow so thick all on the plain "Ride slower, slower, Prince Heathen" she "Already the has filled me shoe". "Ha ha, bonny maid, will you now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." He shortened and on he flew, And with her body harrowed the road. Her silken skirt in tore, Her blouse was spattered with blood. "Ride slower, slower, Heathen," she says "For the road it sorely my knee". "Ha ha, bonny maid, you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for thee." He shortened and on he flew. He's her through the briar and thorns. Young Margaret a pitiful cry, And there she's had her little born. "Oh how can I wrap me little babe Seeing as I've nothing to him in?" He give to her his blanket "That'll roll him cheek to chin". As she the blanket from his hand down her cheeks they trickling run. "Ha ha, bonny maid, you weep now?". "You dog, nor yet for you." "I'm weeping for me own little Your blanket's too to roll him in, and alas, the day I rue That ever I met such as you!" He says "Go wash my in the milk, And my lady in the silk; When are breaking, hands must bow, And well I my lady now". She says "When violets on the window-pane And roses grow on the floor, It's then I'll return again And be bride forevermore". #104 A. L. Lloyd this ancient Child ballad. The chilling of the song stems from the juxtaposition be- stark physical brutality and psychological complexity. Recorded by Armstrong filename[ SF BOUNDARY===