There lived a knight in Jesuitmont
A huntin' he did ride,
His footmen all attending him,
And his horsemen by his side.

And they found out in Jesuitmont
A pleasant sport and play;
His lady goes exceeding fine
To hear the masses play.

An' she's called on her daughter Anne
To come to her with speed,
To go and tell the master cook
To dress the dinner straight.

To go her message for to tell,
Young Annie feared nae ill;
An' she is gone to the master cook
The message for to tell.

Ye maun dress the dow, the dow,
That fair and milk-white dow;
That in the parlour shines so fair,
There's nane so fair to show.

Here is a penknife in my hand,
Will bereave thee of thy life;
For thou art the dow that I maun dress
Unto thy father's wife.

Up then spoke the kitchie boy,
An' he spoke loud an' high,
"O save, o save fair Annie's life,
An' bake me in your pie."

"I will not save fair Annie's life,
No, not for such as thee,
But if thou divulge this lady's life,
Thy butcher I will be."

When the day was done and night was come
And they were all at dinner,
When he's ca'd on his daughter Anne
To come and carve his dinner.

Up he rose and away he goes,
An angry man was he;
"One bit of meat I will not eat
Till fair Annie I see."

Up then spak the kitchie boy,
An' he spoke loud an' high,
"An' ye wad your fair Annie see,
Ye maun break up the pie."

Her meat it was a' minced sma'
An' forced by the fire,
An' cursed be her stepmother,
For it was her desire."

This lord he is a' clad i' black
A' for his Annie's sake,
An' he has caused her stepmother
To be burnt at the stake.

An' he has caused the master cook
In boilin' lead to stand,
An' he has made the kitchie boy
The heir o' a' his land.