Part 30 (1/2)
I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me.
O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair.
Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed; The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.
'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see; My Love was clad in black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie.
But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, O! that my young babe were born, And set upon, the nurse's knee, And I mysell were dead and gane, And the green gra.s.s growing over me!
LORD RONALD.
”O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son, O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?”
”I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down.”
”Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?”
”I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down.”
”What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?”
”I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down.”
”What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?”
”O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down.”
”O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!
O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!”
”O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.”
EDWARD, EDWARD.
'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, Edward, Edward?
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, And why sae sad gang yee O?'