She turned about her milk-white steed,
And took True Thomas up behind,
And aye whene'er her bridle rang,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

For forty days and forty nights

He wade thro' red blude to the knee,
And he saw neither sun nor moon,
But heard the roaring of the sea.

O they rade on, and further on,
Until they came to a garden green:
"Light down, light down, ye lady free,
Some of that fruit let me pull to thee."

"O no, O no, True Thomas," she says,
"That fruit maun not be touched by thee,
For a' the plagues that are in hell
Light on the fruit of this country.

"But I have a loaf here in my lap,
Likewise a bottle of claret wine,
And now ere we go farther on,

We'll rest a while, and ye may dine."

When he had eaten and drunk his fill;

"Lay down your head upon my knee," The lady said, "ere we climb yon hill, And I will show you fairlies three.

"O see not ye yon narrow road,

So thick beset wi' thorns and briers? That is the path of righteousness,

Tho' after it but few enquires.

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40

“And see not ye that braid braid road,
That lies across yon lily leven?
That is the path of wickedness,

Tho' some call it the road to heaven.

"And see not ye that bonny road, Which winds about the ferny brae? That is the road to fair Elfland,

Where you and I this night maun gae.

"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever you may hear or see,

50

For gin ae word you should chance to speak, You will ne'er get back to your ain country." 60

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
And till seven years were past and gone
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

EDWARD

"Why does your brand sae drap wi' bluid,
Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drap wi' bluid,
And why sae sad gang ye, 0?"
“O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my hauke sae guid,

And I had nae mair but he, O."

"Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, Edward, Edward.

Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

My deir son I tell thee, O." "O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,

That erst was sae fair and frie, O." "Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, Edward, Edward:

Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,

Sum other dule ye drie, O."

"O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my fadir deir,

Alas! and wae is me, O!"

“And whatten penance wul ye drie for that, Edward, Edward?

And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,

My deir son, now tell me, O." "I'll set my feit in yonder boat,

Mither, mither:

I'll set my feit in yonder boat,

And I'll fare over the sea, O."

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20

30

And what wul ye doe wi' your towers and your ha', Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye doe wi' your towers and your ha

That were sae fair to see, O?” "I'll let them stand till they doun fa', Mither, mither:

I'll let them stand till they doun fa',

For here never mair maun I be, O."

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"And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Whan ye gang over the sea, O?"

"The warldis room, let them beg throw life,
Mither, mither:

The warldis room, let them beg throw life,
For them never mair wul I see, O."

And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir?
My deir son, now tell me, O."
"The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me, O."

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THE TWA CORBIES

As I was walking all alane,

heard twa corbies making a mane,
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,

I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And nae body kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,

So we may mak' our dinner sweet.

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een:
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair

We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whare he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”

ΙΟ

20

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,

And he was a squire's son;

He loved the bailiff's daughter dear,

That lived in Islington.

She was coy, and she would not believe

That he did love her so,

No, nor at any time she would

Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand
His fond and foolish mind,

They sent him up to fair London,
An apprentice for to bind.

IC