paroles de chanson The Earl of Aboyne - June Tabor

Oh, the Earl of Aboyne to London has gone
And all his nobles with him
Sad was the heart of his lady fair
Because she could not go with him
Oh, the Earl of Aboyne to London has gone
And all his nobles with him
Better he had stayed at home
Or taken his lady with him
And as she walked out upon the green
Among the gentlewomen
Sad was the letter that came to her hand
That her lord was wed in London
And as she looked over the castle wall
She saw two boys a-running
"What news, what news, my bonny little boys
What news have you of London?"
"Oh, good news, good news, my lady gay
For the Earl of Aboyne is coming
And ere he′s within two miles of your walls
You hear his bridles ringing"
"Oh, my groom's all be well in call
And happy days they are shining
Oh, gone are days spent on the stays
Since the lord of Aboyne is coming
"And my mate′s all be well in call
And happier flowers are shining
And cover the stair with herbs sweet and fair
And the floors with the finest linen
"And deck my body in the finest array
And my hood of the brightest linen
And my apron shall be of the good silk cloth
Since the lord of Aboyne is coming"
So stately she stepped down the stair
To see if he was coming
And her gown was of the good green silk
Trimmed with her red silk trimming
She's called to Kate, her waiting maid
And Jean, her gentlewoman
"Come fetch me a glass of the very best wine
To drink his health, he's coming"
She′s gone out to the close to greet her lord
Says, "Welcome for your coming"
She′s gone out to the close to greet her lord
Says, "Thrice welcome from London"
"Oh, if I be of this welcome as you say
Then kiss me for my coming
For tomorrow should have been my wedding day
If I'd stayed any longer in London"
Oh, she′s turned then around with a look of distaste
Says, "Woe's me for your coming
Since tomorrow should have been your wedding day
Then go kiss your whore in London"
"My nobles, all come, mount your steed
I′m sorry for my coming
Tonight we shall lie at the bonny Bogie's side
Since tomorrow the course is to London"
"Oh Tom, my man, run after him
And beg him to take me with him."
"Oh, I′ve asked him once and I've asked him the more
And it's never a mile you′ll ride with him."
Then a year and a day she lived in woe
And the doctors they were dealing
Until at last her heart it broke
And letters were sent to London
When he saw the letters all edged in black
Oh, he′s bound to grievest weeping
"Oh, she is dead that I loved best
And I had but a heart in keeping."
There were fifteen of the noblest lords
That London could provide him
From their hose to their hat they were all dressed in black
To mourn for bonny Peggy Irvine
And the farther he rode the sorer he wept
For he had but a heart in keeping
"Oh, sooner I had lost all the lands of Aboyne
Than my bonnie Peggy Irvine."