Eppie Morrie Poem by Anonymous British

Four-and-twenty Highland men
Came a' from Carrie side
To steal awa Eppie Morrie,
For she would not be a bride.

Out it's came her mother,
It was a moonlight night,
She could not see her daughter,
Their swords they shin'd so bright.

Haud far awa frae me, mother,
Haud far awa frae me;
There's not a man in a' Strathdon
Shall wedded be with me.'

They have taken Eppie Morrie,
And horse back bound her on,
And then awa to the Minister,
As fast as horse could gang.

He's taken out a pistol,
And set it to the minister's breast:
Marry me, marry me, minister,
Or else I'll be your priest.'

Haud far awa frae me, good sir,
Haud far awa frae me;
For there's not a man in all Strathdon
That shall married be with me.'

Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
For I darna avow to marry you,
Except she's as willing as ye.'

They have taken Eppie Morrie,
Since better could nae be,
And they're awa to Carrie side,
As fast as horse could flee.

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all were bound for bed,
Then Willie an Eppie Morrie
In one bed they were laid.

He's taen the cap from off his head
And kicked awa his shoon
And thrown awa the chamber key
And naked he lay doon.

Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
Before I'll lose my maidenhead,
I'll try my strength with thee.

He kissed her on her lily breast
And took her shoulders twa
And aye she spat and aye she grat
And turned to the wa.

Haud far awa frae me, Willie,
Haud far awa frae me;
Before I'll lose my maidenhead,
I'll fight with you till day.

Then early in the morning,
Before her clothes were on,
In came the maiden of Scalletter,
With gown and sark alone.

Get up, get up, young woman,
And drink the wine wi me;
You might have called me maiden,
I'm sure as leal as thee.

Wally fa you, Willie,
That ye could nae prove a man
And taen the lassie's maidenhead!
She would have hired your han.

Haud far awa frae me, lady,
Haud far awa frae me;
There's not a man in a' Strathdon
The day shall wed wi me.

Soon in there came Belbordlane,
With a pistol on every side:
Come awa hame, Eppie Morrie,
And there you'll be my bride.'

Go get to me a horse, Willie,
And get it like a man,
And send me back to my mother
A maiden as I cam.

The sun shines oer the westlin hills;
By the light lamp of the moon,
Just saddle your horse, young John Forsyth,
And whistle, and I'll come soon.'