Paddy Tunney sings these verses in his version of Lady Margaret:

Lady Margaret she lay on her fine feather bed,
The midnight hour drew nigh,
When the ghostly form came to her room,
And to her it did appear, appear,
And to her it did appear.

"Are you my father, the king?" she said,
"Are you my brother John?
Or are you my true love William," she said,
Coming home from Scotland along, along,
Coming home from Scotland along?"

"I'm not your father, the king," he said,
"Nor am I your brother John,
But I am your sweetheart William," he said,
Coming home from Scotland along, along,
Coming home from Scotland along."

"Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret," he said,
"For love or charity,
Will you give me back the plighted troth
That once, love, I gave thee, gave thee,
That once, love, I gave thee?"

"I'll not give you back your plighted troth
Or any such a thing,
Until you bring me to my father's hall
Where ofttimes we have been, have been,
Where ofttimes we have been."

And he took her then to her own father's hall,
And as they entered in
The gates flew open of their own free will
For to let young William in, in,
For to let young William in.

"Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret," he said,
"For love or charity,
Will you give me back the treasure troth
That once, love, I gave thee, gave thee,
That once, love, I gave thee?"

"I'll not give you back your treasure troth
Or any such a thing,
Until you bring me to my own father's hall
And marry me with a ring, a ring,
And marry me with a ring."

He took her then to yon high churchyard,
And as they entered in
The gates flew open of their own sweet will
For to let young William in, in,
For to let young William in.

"Oh Margaret, oh Lady Margaret," he said,
"For love or charity,
Will you give me back the plighted troth
That once, love, I gave thee, gave thee,
That once, love, I gave thee?"

Then out of her pocket she drew a cross
And she laid it on his breast,
Saying, "Here is back your plighted troth,
In Heaven may your soul find rest, find rest,
In Heaven may your soul find rest."

"Oh the winds do blow and the moorcock crow
And it's nearly breaking day,
And it's time that the living should part from the dead,
So now, my love, I must away, away,
So now, my love, I must away."