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

'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 yon 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 Winsbury
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.'