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The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he;
The teir blinded his ee.
“O wha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me,
“Mak hast, mak hast, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne:” “O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
“Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone,
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
That we will cum to harme.”
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang may the ladies stand,
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
For they'll se thame na mair.
Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,
It's fiftie fadom deip,
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.
TILLY'S rare, and Willy's fair,
And Willy's wondrous bony,
Gin eer he marryd ony.
“Yestreen I made my bed fu brade,
The night I'll make it narrow,
I lie twin'd of my marrow.
“O came you by yon water-side?
Pu'd you the rose or lilly?
Or saw you my sweet Willy?”
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him brade and narrow;
THY dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
And why sae sad gang yee O?”
Mither, mither, o I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
And I had nae mair bot hee O.”
"Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son, I tell thee O.”
Mither, mither, 0 I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and frie 0.”
“Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ye drie O.”
Mither, mither, o I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas, and wae is mee O!”
"And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,
And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me 0.” "Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
And lle fare ovir the sea 0.”
“And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
That were sae fair to see O?”
For here nevir mair maun I bee 0.”
“And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Whan ye gang ovir the sea O?”
For thame nevir mair wul I see 0.”
“And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
My deir son, now tell me 0.”
S I was walking all alane
I 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,
“His hound is to the hunting gane,
“Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
“Mony a one for him makes mane,
one Theek: thatch