THE GAY GOSHAWK

"O well's me o' my gay goshawk,
That he can speak and flee;
He'll carry a letter to my love,
Bring back another to me."

"O how can I your true-love ken,
Or how can I her know?

When frae her mouth I never heard couth,
Nor wi' my eyes her saw."

"O well sall ye my true-love ken,

As soon as you her see;

For, of a' the flow'rs in fair Englan',
The fairest flow'r is she.

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At even at my love's bow'r-door
There grows a bowing birk,
An' sit ye down and sing thereon
As she gangs to the kirk.

"An' four-and-twenty ladies fair
Will wash and go to kirk,

But well sall ye my true-love ken,
For she wears goud on her skirt.

"An' four-and-twenty gay ladies

Will to the mass repair,

But well sall ye my true-love ken,

For she wears goud on her hair."

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O even at that lady's bow'r-door
There grows a bowin' birk,
An' he sat down and sang thereon,
As she gaed to the kirk.

"O eat and drink, my marys a',
The wine flows you among,
Till I gang to my shot-window,
An' hear yon bonny bird's song.

'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
The song ye sang yestreen,
For I ken by your sweet singin',
You're frae my true-love sen'."

O first he sang a merry song,
An' then he sang a grave,
An' then he peck'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.

"Ha, there's a letter frae your love,

He says he sent you three;
He canna wait your love langer,
But for your sake he'll die.

"He bids you write a letter to him; He says he's sent you five;

He canno wait your love langer,

Tho' you're the fairest woman alive."

"Ye bid him bake his bridal bread,
And brew his bridal ale,

An' I'll meet him in fair Scotlan'
Lang, lang or it be stale."

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She's done her to her father dear,
Fa'n low down on her knee:
"A boon, a boon, my father dear,
I pray you, grant it me.”

"Ask on, ask on, my daughter,

An' granted it sall be;

Except ae squire in fair Scotlan',
An' him you sall never see.”

"The only boon my father dear,
That I do crave of thee,
Is, gin I die in southin lan's,
In Scotland to bury me.

"An' the firstin kirk that ye come till,
Ye gar the bells be rung,

An' the nextin kirk that ye come till,
Ye gar the mass be sung.

"An' the thirdin kirk that ye come till,
You deal gold for my sake,
An' the fourthin kirk that ye come till,
You tarry there till night."

She's done her to her bigly bow'r,
As fast as she could fare,
An' she has ta'en a sleepy draught,
That she had mix'd wi' care.

She's laid her down upon her bed,
An' soon she's fa'n asleep,

And soon o'er every tender limb

Cauld death began to creep.

Whan night was flown, an' day was come,

Nae ane that did her see

But thought she was as surely dead

As ony lady could be.

Her father an' her brothers dear
Garred make to her a bier;
The tae half was o' guid red gold,
The tither o' silver clear.

Her mither an' her sisters fair
Garred work for her a sark;
The tae half was o' cambrick fine,
The tither o' needle-wark.

The firstin kirk that they came till,
They garred the bells be rung,
An' the nextin kirk that they came till,
They garred the mass be sung.

The thirdin kirk that they came till,
They dealt gold for her sake,

An' the fourthin kirk that they came till,

Lo, there they met her make!

"Lay down, lay down the bigly bier,

Let me the dead look on."

Wi' cherry cheeks and ruby lips.

She lay an' smil'd on him.

"O ae sheave o' your bread, true-love,

An' ae glass o' your wine,

For I hae fasted for your sake

These days is fully nine.

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"Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brothers,

Gang hame and sound your horn; An' ye may boast in southin lan's Your sister's play'd you scorn."

THOMAS RYMER

True Thomas lay o'er yond grassy bank,
And he beheld a lady gay,

A lady that was brisk and bold,
Come riding o'er the ferny brae.

Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine,
At ilka tett of her horse's mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.

True Thomas he took off his hat,

And bowed him low down till his knee :
All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
For your peer on earth I never did see."

o, O no, True Thomas," she says, That name does not belong to me; am but the queen of fair Elfland, And I'm come here for to visit thee.

"But ye maun go wi' me now, Thomas, True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me, For ye maun serve me seven years,

Thro' weal or wae, as may chance to be."

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