Prince Young Margaret sat in a tower And as pale as a milk white swan When she saw a shadow on the betwixt her and the sun. "Oh, mother, is it a Or a of ravens in the air, Or a black with a silver flag And a ragged man amongst there?" "Oh, daughter, go run in your little And bid adieu to flowers so gay. For yonder comes Prince men And I they're coming to take you away." In there Prince Heathen then, saying "Good day to you. And where will l find that sweet little With her as soft as morning dew?" Young locked her bower door But his men soon the hinges spring And in there Prince Heathen then And give to her a gay ring. Back at him the she flung She cries "Of you I no fear. call you wolf-hound seven times Rather then call you dear." He swore then, by her hair, He'd her weep and call him dear. He's her in his two dark arms, And laid her on the stone floor. And he set her free again, Her from her he's ta'en: "Ha ha, maid, will you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." He's her down in a cabin of stone forty locks did hang thereto. "Ha ha, bonny maid, will you now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." "Come, my lady of the salt, salt meat, And vinegar for her brew, "Ha ha, maid, will you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for you." Heathen down from the mountains came Where been hunting with his armoured men. He came unto this fair maid All in the where she is laid. "A drink, a drink, Heathen" she said. "Even if it's from the well pool." "Never a drink! you weep now?" "You dog, nor yet for thee." taken her by her yellow hair, And it to his horse's tail. He's dragged her the bushes and briars That grow so thick all on the "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 stirrups and on he flew, And her body he's harrowed the road. Her skirt in tatters tore, Her silken was spattered with blood. "Ride slower, slower, Heathen," she says "For the it sorely hurts my knee". "Ha ha, maid, will 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 sweet little Seeing as I've to roll him in?" He give to her his blanket "That'll roll him from to chin". As she the blanket from his hand Tears her cheeks they trickling run. "Ha ha, maid, will you weep now?". "You dog, nor yet for you." "I'm weeping for me own son; Your blanket's too to roll him in, and alas, the day I rue That ever I met rogues as you!" He "Go wash my baby in the milk, And dress my in the silk; When hearts are breaking, hands bow, And I love my lady now". She says "When violets on the window-pane And roses on the kitchen floor, It's that I'll return again And be your forevermore". #104 A. L. Lloyd refurbished ancient Child ballad. The chilling tension of the stems from the juxtaposition be- tween physical brutality and psychological complexity. Recorded by Armstrong filename[ SF BOUNDARY===