Silly Sisters - Geordie

My foray into bawdy folk music has lead me to the Silly Sisters. This song is performed by June Tabor. I am addicted to it. People are starting to worry about me.

I just want to be referred to as "my dearie" by Amy, is that so wrong? (I also think it'd be cool if she threatened to make the blood flow upon the green if she didn't get her laddie.)

Here are the lyrics, more or less, in "English":

There was a battle in the north,
And nobles there was many,
And they hae kill'd Sir Charlie Hay,
And they laid the wyte on Geordie

O he has written a lang letter,
He sent it to his lady;
Ye maun cum up to Enbrugh town
To see what words o' Geordie.

When first she look'd the letter on,
She was baith red and rosy;
But she had na read a word but twa,
Till she wallow't like a lily,

Gar get to me my gude grey steed,
My menzie a' gae wi' me;
For I shall neither eat nor drink,
Till Enbrugh town shall see me.

And she has mountit her gude grey steed,
Her menzie a' gaed wi' her;
And she did neither eat nor drink
Till Enbrugh town did see her.

And first appear'd the fatal block,
And syrie the aix to head him;
And Geordie cumin down the stair,
And bands o airn upon him.

But tho' he was chain'd in fetters strang,
O airn and steel sae heavy,
There was na ane in a'the court,
Sae bruw a Man as Geordie.

O she's down on her bended knee,
I wat she's pale and weary,
O pardon, pardon, noble king,
And gie me back my Dearie!

Gar bid the headin-man mak haste!
Our king reply'd fu' lordly:
O noble king, tak a'that's mine,
But gie me back my Geordie.

The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran,
And they were stark and steady;
And ay the word amang them a'
Was, Gordons keep you ready.

An aged lord at the king's right hand
Says, noble king, but hear me:
Gar her tell down five thousand pound
And gie her back her Dearie.

Some gae her marks, some gae her crowns,
Some gae her dollars many;
And shes tell'd down five thousand pound,
And she's gotten, again her Dearie.

She blinkit blythe in her Geordie's face,
Says, dear I've bought thee, Geordie:
But there sud been bluidy bouks on the green,
Or I had tint my laddie.

He claspit her by the middle sma',
And he kist her lips sae rosy:
The fairest flower o' woman-kind
Is my sweet, bonie Lady!