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The king has written a braid letter,

And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,

The teir blinded his ee.

“O wha is this has don this deid,

This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail

upon

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“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,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,

That we will cum to harme.”

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith

To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,

Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,

Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence

Cum sailing to the land.

Braid: broad

Laith: loath

Owre: before

O lang, lang may the ladies stand,

Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,

For they'll se thame na mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,

It's fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,

Wi the Scots lords at his feit.

Old Ballad

7

“WILI

TILLY'S rare, and Willy's fair,

And Willy's wondrous bony,
And Willy heght to marry me,

Gin eer he marryd ony.

“Yestreen I made my bed fu brade,

The night I'll make it narrow,
For a' the live-long winter's night

I lie twin'd of my marrow.

“O came you by yon water-side?

Pu'd you the rose or lilly?
Or came you by yon meadow green?

Or saw you my sweet Willy?”

She sought him east, she sought him west,

She sought him brade and narrow;
Sine, in the clifting of a craig,
She found him drownd in Yarrow.

Old Ballad

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8

EDWARD, EDWARD

"WHY

THY dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,

Edward, Edward?
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,

And why sae sad gang yee O?”
"O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,

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,

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, 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,

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 mee O!”

"And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,

Edward, Edward!

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And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me 0.” "Ile set my feit in yonder boat,

Mither, mither,
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,

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

That were sae fair to see O?
"Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,

Mither, mither,
Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,

For here nevir mair maun I bee 0.

“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 ovir the sea O?
“The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,

Mither, mither,
The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,

For thame nevir mair wul I see 0.”

“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 0.”
“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 0.”

Old Ballad

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AS

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,
I wot there lies a new-slain Knight;
And naebody 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 make our dinner sweet.

“Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick 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 where he is gane;
O’er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."

Old Ballad

Corbies: ravens
Fail: turf

Hause-bane: neck-bone
Mane: remark, moan

Tane:

one Theek: thatch

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