This is an ancient ballad which apparently dates to the 16th century.

  1. Johnny Scott’s a-hunting gone to the wildest hills and woods
    To the fairest young lady in all England, young Johnny had a child

  2. King Edward he wrote him a broad letter, signed it with his hand
    Saying Give you this to young Johnny Scott as soon as he does land

  3. And the very first line that Johnny read his eyes they filled with tears
    Saying Must I go back to far England? I fear I will never return.

  4. And out bespoke his old age father from his chamber where he lay
    Saying A thousand men I will send along with you for to bear you company.

  5. As they were mounted on their milk-white steeds all comely to behold
    And the hair that hung down over Johnny’s shoulder shone like the beaten gold.

  6. And the very first town that they rode through, they made the trumpets sound
    And the very next town that they rode through the drums they beat all around.

  7. And the very next town that they came to it was to England town
    And who should he see but his fair lady and she lying in irons bound

  8. Come down, come down, Lady Margit, he cried, and speak one word to me
    Oh how can I come down Lord Johnny, she cried, King Edward has bolted me.

  9. Oh my stockings are made of the cold iron, my boots of tethers brown
    And my garters are made of the coldest steel that e’er was in England found.

  10. Oh and one is to the kitchen gone, and one is to the hall
    And one is to the parlour gone amongst the nobles all.

  11. And Johnny went to the king’s hall door and jingled at the bell
    And there was no one so ready as the old witch herself for to rise up and welcome him in.

  12. Are you the king of Auburn, she says, or James our Scottish king,
    Or are you the bastard’s father, she says, from Ireland has come?

  13. I’m not the king of Auburn he says, nor James your Scottish king
    But I am a noble prince, he says, from Ireland has come.

  14. Well there is an Italian all in this house, he kills men three by three
    And tomorrow morning at eight o’clock it’s on his sword you’ll be.

  15. Well Johnny and the Italian fought ‘til the blood flew like the rain
    ‘Til at length on the top of Johnny’s broad sword the Italian was sorely slain

  16. He put his hand onto his sword and stroked it o’er the plain
    Saying, Is there any more of youse English lords would like to be sorely slain?

  17. He put his hand onto his horn: he blew loud and high
    A priest, a priest, Lord Johnny he cried, for to wed my love and I.