"Sen ze winnae gie me my guerdon, Lord,
Sen ze winnae gie me my hyre,
Yon proud caftle, fae ftately built,
I fall gar rock wi' the fyre.

"Sen ze winnae gie me my wages, Lord,

Ze fall hae cause to rue."

And fyne he brewed a black revenge,

And fyne he vowed a vow.

"Now byde at hame, my luve, my life,

I warde ze byde at hame :

O gang nae to this day's hunting,
To leave me a' my lane!

"Zeftreene, zeftreene, I dreamt my bower

Of red, red blude was fu’.
Gin ye gang to this black hunting,

I fall hae cause to rue."

Quha looks to dreams, my winfome dame?

Ze hae nae cause to feare."

And fyne he's kift her comely cheek,

And syne the starting teare.

And fyne he's gane to the good greene wode, And she to her painted bowir;

And she's gard steek doors, windows, yates, Of castle, ha, and towir.

They steeked doors, they steeked yates,
Close to the cheek and chin:

They steeked them a' but a little wicket,
And LAMMIKIN crap in.

Now quhere's the Lady of this castle,

Nurse tell to LAMMIKIN?

She's sewing up intill her bowir;
The fals NOURICE fhe fung.

LAMMIKIN nipped the bonnie babe,
Quhile loud fals NOURICE fings:
LAMMIKIN nipped the bonnie babe,
Quhile hich the red blude springs.

O gentil NOURICE! please my babe,
O please him wi' the keys!
It'll no be pleased, gay lady,
Gin I'd fit on my knees.

Gude gentle NOURICE, please my babe,
O please him wi' a knife!

He winnae be pleased, mistress myne,
Gin I wad lay down my life.

Sweet NOURICE, loud, loud cries my babe,

O please him wi' the bell!

He winnae be pleased, gay lady,

Till ze cum down yourfell.

And quhen she saw the red, red blude,
A loud fcrich fchriched fhe.
O monster, monster! spare my child,
Quha nevir skaithed thee.

O fpare! gif in your bludy breaft
Albergs not heart of stane!

O fpare! and ye fall hae of goud
Quhat ze can carrie hame.

Dame, I want not your goud, he said;
Dame, I want not your fee;

I hae been wranged by your Lord,
Ze fall black vengeance drie.

Here are nae ferfs to guard your halls,

Nae trusty speirmen here;

They found the horn in gude grene wode,
And chasse the doe and deer.

Tho' merry founds the gude grene wode,
Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn,
Zour Lord fall rue, e'er fets yon sun,

He has done me skaith and scorn.

HE has call'd to her her bower-maidens,

SH

She has call'd them one by one;
"There is a dead man in my bower,
I wish that he was gone."

They have booted him, and spurred him,
As he was wont to ride:

A hunting-horn around his waist,

A sharp fword by his fide.

Then up and spake a bonny bird,

That fat upon the tree,

"Quhat hae ze done with Earl RICHARD,

Ze was his gay lady?"

Cum down, cum, down, my bonnie bird,

Cum fit upon my hand;

And ze fall hae a cage o' the goud,
Quhere ze hae but the wand."

"Awa' awa', ze ill woman,

Nae ill woman for me;

Quhat ze hae done to Earl RICHARD, Sae wad ye do to me."

"O there's a bird within your bower,
That fings fae fad and sweet;
O there's a bird intill your bower,
Kept me frae my night's sleep."

And she sware by the grass sae green,
Sae did fhe by the corn,

That she had not seen Earl RICHARD
Syne yesterday at morn.

*

*

The Bonny Lafs of Lochroyan.

WHA will shoe thy bonny feet?
Or wha will glove thy hand?

Or wha will lace thy middle-jimp,
With a lang, lang London whang?

And wha will kame thy bonny head
With a Tabean birben kame?
And wha will be my bairns father,

Till love GREGORY come hame?

Thy father'll shoe his bonny feet;
Thy mother'll glove his hand;
Thy brither will lace his middle jimp
With a lang lang London whang.

Myfell will kame his bonny head
With a Tabean birben kame;
And the Lord will be the bairns father
Till GREGORY come hame.

Then she's gart build a bonny ship,
It's a' cover'd o'er with pearl:
And at every needle-track was in't.
There hang a filler-bell.

And fhe's awa

To fail upon the fea

She's gane to feek love GREGORY
In lands whare'er he be.

She had na fail'd a league but twa,
Or scantly had she three,
Till fhe met with a rude rover

Was failing on the sea.

O whether art thou the queen hersell?
Or ane o' her Maries three?
Or art thou the Lafs of Lochroyan
Seeking love GREGORY?

O I am not the queen herfell,

Nor ane of her Maries three ;
But I am the Lass of Lochroyan
Seeking love GREGORY.

O fees na thou yon bonny bower,
It's a' cover'd o'er with tin: