Johnny Scott’s a-hunting gone to the wildest hills and woods
To the fairest young lady in all England, young Johnny had a
King Edward he wrote him a broad letter, signed it with his
Saying Give you this to young Johnny Scott as soon as he
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
And out bespoke his old age father from his chamber where he
Saying A thousand men I will send along with you for to bear
As they were mounted on their milk-white steeds all comely
And the hair that hung down over Johnny’s shoulder shone
like the beaten gold.
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.
And the very next town that they came to it was to England
And who should he see but his fair lady and she lying in
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.
Oh my stockings are made of the cold iron, my boots of
And my garters are made of the coldest steel that e’er was
in England found.
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.
And Johnny went to the king’s hall door and jingled at the
And there was no one so ready as the old witch herself for
to rise up and welcome him in.
Are you the king of Auburn, she says, or James our Scottish
Or are you the bastard’s father, she says, from Ireland has
I’m not the king of Auburn he says, nor James your Scottish
But I am a noble prince, he says, from Ireland has come.
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
Well Johnny and the Italian fought ‘til the blood flew like
‘Til at length on the top of Johnny’s broad sword the
Italian was sorely slain
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?
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