Then they rade on, and farther on, Untill they came to a garden green; To pu an apple he put up his hand, For the lack o food he was like to tyne. "O haud yere hand, Thomas," she cried, "And let that green flourishing be; For it's the very fruit o hell, Beguiles baith man and woman o yere countrie. "But look afore ye, True Thomas, And I shall show ye ferlies three; Yon is the gate leads to our land, Where thou and I sae soon shall be. "And dinna ye see yon road, Thomas, That lies out-owr yon lilly lee? Weel is the man yon gate may gang, For it leads him straight to the heavens hie. "But do you see yon road, Thomas, That lies out-owr yon frosty fell? Ill is the man yon gate may gang, For it leads him straight to the pit o hell. "Now when ye come to our court, Thomas, See that a weel-learned man ye be; For they will ask ye, one and all, But ye maun answer nane but me. "And when nae answer they obtain, Then will they come and question me, And I will answer them again That I gat yere aith at the Eildon tree. * * * * * "Ilka seven years, Thomas, We pay our teindings unto hell, And ye're sae leesome and sae strang That I fear, Thomas, it will be yeresell." YOUNG BEICHAN In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to see, But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely. For thro his shoulder he put a bore, An thro the bore has pitten a tree, An he's gard him draw the carts o wine, Where horse and oxen had wont to be. He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep, Where he coud neither hear nor see; He's shut him up in a prison strong, An he's handld him right cruely. O this Moor he had but ae daughter, I wot her name was Shusy Pye; She's doen her to the prison-house, And she's calld Young Bicham one word "O hae ye ony lands or rents, Or citys in your ain country, Coud free you out of prison strong, An coud mantain a lady free?" "O London city is my own, An other citys twa or three, Coud loose me out o prison strong, An coud mantain a lady free." O she has bribed her father's men Wi meikle goud and white money, She's gotten the key o the prison doors, An she has set Young Bicham free. She's g'in him a loaf o good white bread, But an a flask o Spanish wine, An she bad him mind on the ladie's love That sae kindly freed him out o pine. "Go set your foot on good ship-board, An haste you back to your ain country, An before that seven years has an end, Come back again, love, and marry me." It was long or seven years had an end She longd fu sair her love to see; She's set her foot on good ship-board, And turnd her back on her ain country.