From Noctes Ambrosianae, Volume 2 by John Wilson et al. (Edinburgh and London: W. Blackwood and Sons, 1827), page 137:


THE TWA MAGICIANS.

The lady stands in her bower door,
As straight as willow wand;
The blacksmith stood a little forbye,
Wi' hammer in his hand.

Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair,
Into your robes o' red,
Before the morn at this same time,
I'll loose your silken snood.

Awa, awa, ye coal-black smith,
Wud ye do me the wrang,
To think to gain my virgin love,
That I hae kept sae lang?

Then she has hadden up her hand,
And she sware by the mold,
I wudna be a blacksmith's wife
For a' the warld's gold.

O! rather I were dead and gone,
And my body laid in grave,
Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith
My virgin love should have.

But he has hadden up his hand,
And he sware by the mass,
I'll cause ye be my light leman,
For the hauf o' that and less.

CHORUS: O bide, lady bide,
And aye he bade her bide;
The rusty smith your leman shall be,
For a' your meikle pride.

Then she became a turtle dow,
To fly up in the air;
And he became another dow.
And they flew pair and pair.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

She turn'd herself into an eel,
To swim into yon burn;
And he became a speckled trout,
To give the eel a turn.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

Then she became a duck, a duck,
Upon a reedy lake;
And the smith wi' her to soom or dive,
Became a rose-kamed drake.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

She turned herself into a hare,
To rin ower hill and hollow;
And he became a gude greyhound,
And boldly he did follow.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

Then she became a gay grey mare,
And stood in yonder slack;
And he became a gilt saddle,
And sat upon her back.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

Then she became a het girdle,
And he became a cake;
And a' the ways she turned hersel,
The blacksmith was her make. [=match}
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

She turned herself into a ship,
To sail out-ower the flood;
He ca'd a nail intil her tail,
And syne the ship she stood.
O bide, lady, bide, &c.

Then she became a silken plaid,
And stretch'd upon a bed:
And he became a green covering,
And thus the twa were wed.

LAST CHORUS: Was she wae, he held her sae,
And still he bade her bide;
The rusty smith her leman was,
For a' her meikle pride.

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