The king he hath been a prisoner,
A prisoner lang in Spain, O
And Willie o the Winsbury
Has lain lang wi his daughter at hame. O

‘What aileth thee, my daughter Janet,
Ye look so pale and wan?
Have ye had any sore sickness,
Or have ye been lying wi a man?
Or is it for me, your father dear,
And biding sae lang in Spain?’

‘I have not had any sore sickness,
Nor yet been lying wi a man;
But it is for you, my father dear,
In biding sae lang in Spain.’

‘Cast ye off your berry-brown gown,
Stand straight upon the stone,
That I may ken ye by yere shape,
Whether ye be a maiden or none.’

She 's coosten off her berry-brown gown,
Stooden straight upo you stone;
Her apron was short, and her haunches were round,
Her face it was pale and wan.

‘Is it to a man o might, Janet?
Or is it to a man of fame?
Or is it to any of the rank robbers
That 's lately come out o Spain?’

‘It is not to a man of might,’ she said,
‘Nor is it to a man of fame;
But it is to William of Winsburry:
I could lye nae langer my lane.’

The king 's called on his merry men all,
By thirty and by three:
‘Go fetch me William of Winsburry,
For hanged he shall be.’

But when he cam the king before,
He was clad o the red silk;
His hair was like to threeds o gold,
And his skin was as white as milk.

‘It is nae wonder,’ said the king,
‘That my daughter's love ye did win;
Had I been a woman, as I am a man,
My bedfellow ye should hae been.

‘Will ye marry my daughter Janet,
By the truth of thy right hand?
I 'll gie ye gold, I 'll gie ye money,
And I 'll gie ye an earldom o land.’

‘Yes, I 'll marry yere daughter Janet,
By the truth of my right hand;
But I 'll hae nane o yer gold, I 'll hae nane o yer money,
Nor I winna hae an earldom o land.

‘For I hae eighteen corn-mills,
Runs all in water clear,
And there 's as much corn in each o them
As they can grind in a year.’