Here's another version, from "Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads" edited by James Henry Dixon, London. Printed for the Percy Society, by T. Richards, 100, St. Martin's Lane. M.DCCC.XLV. [1845] – found with Google Book Search.

It's practically the same as the one above, except (1) the title; (2) the spelling, and (3) one additional verse at the end.

THE WATER O' WEARIE'S WELL.

There cam' a bird out o' a bush,
    On water for to dine;
An' siching sair, says, the king's dochter,
    O wae's this heart o' mine.

He's taen a harp into his hand,
    He's harpit them a' asleip;
Except it was the king's dochter,
    Wha ae wink couldna get.

He's loupen on his berry-brown steed,
    Ta'en her behin' himsel';
Then baith rade doun to that water
    That they ca' Wearie's Well.

Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,
    No harm shall thee befall;
Oft times ha'e I watered my steed
    Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well.

The first step that she steppit in,
    She steppit to the knee;
And, sichin' says this ladye fair,
    This water's nae for me.

Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,
    Nae harm shall thee befall;
Oft times have I watered my steed
    Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well.

The next step that she steppit in,
    She steppit to the middle;
O, sichin' says this ladye fair,
    I've wat my gowden girdle.

Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,
    Nae harm shall thee befall;
Oft times ha'e I watered my steed
    Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well.

The next step that she steppit in,
    She steppit to the chin;
O, sichin' says this ladye fair,
    They sud gar twa luves twin.

Seven kings' dochters I've droun'd there,
    I' the water o' Wearie's Well;
An' I'll mak' ye the eight o' them,
    An' ring the common bell.

Sin' I am standin' here, she says,
    This dowie death to dee;
One kiss o' your comelie mouth
    I'm sure wad comfort me.

He louted him o'er his saddle bow,
    To kiss her cheek an' chin;
She's ta'en him in her arms twa,
    An' throun him headlong in.

Sin' seven kings' daughters ye've drouned there,
    I' the water o' Wearie's Well,
I'll mak' ye the bridegroom to them a',
    An' ring the bell mysell.

An' aye she warsled, and aye she swam,
    An' she swam to dry lan';
An' thankit God most cheerfullie,
    For the dangers she o'ercam'.