'Why weep ye by the tide, lady,
Why weep ye by the tide?
I'll wed you to my youngest son,
And you shall be his bride:
And you shall be his bride, lady
So comely to be seen'
But aye she let the tears downfa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

'A coat of gold you shall not lack,
Nor comb to bind you hair,
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
Nor palfrey fresh and fair.
And you, the fairest of them a'
Shall ride our forest queen.'
But aye she let the tears downfa'
For Jock o' Hazeldean.

'Now let this willful grief be done,
And dry those cheeks so pale;
Young Frank is chief of Erthington,
And lord of Langleydale;
His step is first in peaceful ha',
His sword in battle keen' -
But aye she let the tears downfa'
Foe Jock of Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck'd at morning tide,
The tapers glimmer'd fair.
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight were there.
They searched for her in bower and ha'
The lady was not seen.
She's o'er the border and away,
With Jock o' Hazeldean.