Prince Heathen by The Furrow Collective Lyrics
Young Margaret sat in her tower high
And she's as pale as a milk white swan
When she a shadow on the plain
Come between her and the sun
"O mother is that a thunder cloud?
Or a flight of ravens in the air?
Or a black army with a silver flag
And a ragged man amongst them there."
"Oh daughter, go run in your little yard
And bid adieu to your flowers so gay
For yonder comes Prince Heathen's men
And I fear they've come to take you away."
In there comes Prince Heathеn then, saying
"Good day mother-in-law to you
And wherе will I find that sweet little bride
With her hands as soft as morning dew?"
Young Margaret locked her bower door
But his men soon made the hinges spring
And in there come Prince Heathen then
And give to her a gay gold ring
Back at him the ring she flung
She cries, “Of you I have no fear
I'll call you wolf-hound seven times
Rather then call you husband dear.”
He swore then, by her yellow hair
He'd make her weep and call him dear
He's taken her in his two dark arms
And laid her on the cold stone floor
And when he set her free again
Her maidenhead from her he's taken:
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
He's cast her down in a cabin of stone
Where forty locks did hang thereto
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
“Come, give my lady of the salt, salt meat
And bitter vinegar for her brew
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
Prince Heathen down from the mountains came
Where he'd been hunting with his armoured men
He came unto this fair young maid
All in the prison where she is laid
“A drink, a drink, Prince Heathen,” she said
“Even if it's from the muddy well pool.”
“Never a drink! Will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for thee.”
He's taken her by her yellow hair
And tied it to his horse's tail
He's dragged her through the bushes and briars
That grow so thick all on the plain
“Ride slower, slower, Prince Heathen,” she says
“Already the blood has filled me shoe.”
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
He shortened stirrups and on he flew
And with her body he's harrowed the road
Her silken skirt in tatters tore
Her silken blouse was spattered with blood
“Ride slower, slower, Prince Heathen,” she says
“For the road it sorely hurts my knee.”
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for thee.”
He shortened stirrups and on he flew
He's dragged her through the briar and thorns
Young Margaret gave a pitiful cry
And there she's had her little babe born
“Oh how can I wrap me sweet little babe
Seeing as I've nothing to roll him in?”
He give to her his saddle blanket
“That'll roll him from cheek to chin.”
As she took the blanket from his hand
Tears down her cheeks they trickling run
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
“I'm weeping for me own little son;
Your blanket's too rough to roll him in
Ever and alas, the day I rue
That ever I met such rogues as you!”
He says, “Go wash my baby in the milk
And dress my lady in the silk;
When hearts are breaking, hands must bow
And well I love my lady now.”
She says, “When violets bloom on the window-pane
And roses grow on the kitchen floor
It's then that I'll return again
And be your bride forevermore.”
And she's as pale as a milk white swan
When she a shadow on the plain
Come between her and the sun
"O mother is that a thunder cloud?
Or a flight of ravens in the air?
Or a black army with a silver flag
And a ragged man amongst them there."
"Oh daughter, go run in your little yard
And bid adieu to your flowers so gay
For yonder comes Prince Heathen's men
And I fear they've come to take you away."
In there comes Prince Heathеn then, saying
"Good day mother-in-law to you
And wherе will I find that sweet little bride
With her hands as soft as morning dew?"
Young Margaret locked her bower door
But his men soon made the hinges spring
And in there come Prince Heathen then
And give to her a gay gold ring
Back at him the ring she flung
She cries, “Of you I have no fear
I'll call you wolf-hound seven times
Rather then call you husband dear.”
He swore then, by her yellow hair
He'd make her weep and call him dear
He's taken her in his two dark arms
And laid her on the cold stone floor
And when he set her free again
Her maidenhead from her he's taken:
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
He's cast her down in a cabin of stone
Where forty locks did hang thereto
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
“Come, give my lady of the salt, salt meat
And bitter vinegar for her brew
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
Prince Heathen down from the mountains came
Where he'd been hunting with his armoured men
He came unto this fair young maid
All in the prison where she is laid
“A drink, a drink, Prince Heathen,” she said
“Even if it's from the muddy well pool.”
“Never a drink! Will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for thee.”
He's taken her by her yellow hair
And tied it to his horse's tail
He's dragged her through the bushes and briars
That grow so thick all on the plain
“Ride slower, slower, Prince Heathen,” she says
“Already the blood has filled me shoe.”
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
He shortened stirrups and on he flew
And with her body he's harrowed the road
Her silken skirt in tatters tore
Her silken blouse was spattered with blood
“Ride slower, slower, Prince Heathen,” she says
“For the road it sorely hurts my knee.”
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for thee.”
He shortened stirrups and on he flew
He's dragged her through the briar and thorns
Young Margaret gave a pitiful cry
And there she's had her little babe born
“Oh how can I wrap me sweet little babe
Seeing as I've nothing to roll him in?”
He give to her his saddle blanket
“That'll roll him from cheek to chin.”
As she took the blanket from his hand
Tears down her cheeks they trickling run
“Ha ha, bonny maid, will you weep now?”
“You heathenish dog, nor yet for you.”
“I'm weeping for me own little son;
Your blanket's too rough to roll him in
Ever and alas, the day I rue
That ever I met such rogues as you!”
He says, “Go wash my baby in the milk
And dress my lady in the silk;
When hearts are breaking, hands must bow
And well I love my lady now.”
She says, “When violets bloom on the window-pane
And roses grow on the kitchen floor
It's then that I'll return again
And be your bride forevermore.”