Here's the version on pp 31-32 of Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads

THE RIGS O' RYE

’Twas in the month o’ sweet July,
Before the sun had pierced the sky;
’Twas in between twa rigs o’ rye
That I heard twa lovers talking.

The lad said, “Love, I must away,
I’ve got no longer time to stay;
But I’ve got a word or two to say,
If ye’ve got time to tarry.

“Your father of you takes great care,
Your mother combs down your yellow hair;
And your sisters say ye will get nae share,
Gin ye gang wi’ me, a stranger.”

“Let my father fret and my mother frown,
My sisters’ Words I do disown;
Though they a’ were deid and below the groun’,
I’d gang wi’ you, a stranger.”

“Oh, lassie, lassie, your fortunes sma’,
And maybe it will be nane ata’;
Yer nae a match for me ava’,
Lay ye yer love on some ither.”

The lassie’s courage began to fail,
Her red, rosy cheeks grew wan and pale,
And her tears cam’ trickling down like hail,
Or a heavy shower in summer.

He took his handkerchief, linen ?ne,
He dried her tears, and he kissed her syne;
Says, “Dry up your tears, love, ye shall be mine,
I said it a’ to try you.”

He, being a boy of courage bold,
A boy that scarce was nineteen years old;
He made the hills and the valleys roar,
And he’s ta’en his bonnie lassie wi’ him.

This couple they’ve got married noo,
And they’ve got bairnies one or two;
And they live in Brechin the winter thro’,
And in Montrose in summer.


This fine old country song appears to have been missed by all the well-known collectors. I sent a copy of it to the late Robert Ford, but by the time it reached him his Vagabond Songs were in the press, so that he could not include it. The music is by Mr. J. B. Allan, organist, Glasgow, who noted it down from the singing of an ex-Aberdeenshire ploughman.