It was mirk, mirk night and there was nae stern
light
And they waded through red
blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that 's shed on earth
Rins through the springs o'
that countrie.
Syne they came on to a garden green
And she pu'd an apple frae
a tree:
Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,
It will give thee the tongue
that can never lie.
My tongue is mine ain, True Thomas said,
A gudely gift ye wad gie to
me;
I neither dought to buy nor sell
At fair or tryst where I may
be;
I dought neither speak to prince or peer
Nor ask of grace from fair
ladye.
Now hold thy peace, the lady said,
For as I say, so must it be.
He has gotten a coat of the even cloth
And a pair of shoes of velvet
green;
And till seven years were gane and past
True Thomas on earth was never
seen.
