“Put on, put on, my wighty men, As fast as ye can drie; For he that is hindmost of the thrang Shall ne’er get gude of me!” Then some they rade, and some they ran, Full fast out o’er the bent; But ere the foremost could win up, Baith ladye and babes were brent. [He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, And wept in tearful mood; “Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed, Ye shall weep tears of bluid.” And after the Gordon he has gane, Sae fast as he might drie; And soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid He’s wroken {96b} his dear layde.] And mony were the mudie {97} men Lay gasping on the green; And mony were the fair ladyes Lay lemanless at hame. And mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the green; For of fifty men the Gordon brocht, There were but five gaed hame. And round, and round the walls he went, Their ashes for to view; At last into the flames he flew, And bade the world adieu. LADY ANNE BOTHWELL’S LAMENT (_Child_, vol. iv. Early Edition.) BALOW, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep, If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother’s joy, Thy father bred one great annoy. _Balow_, _my boy_, _ly still and sleep_, _It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_. Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak’st then sweetly smile; But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin’d me. _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._ When he began to court my love, And with his sugar’d words to move, His tempting face, and flatt’ring chear, In time to me did not appear; But now I see that cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._ Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman’s mouth. Let never any after me Submit unto thy courtesy! For, if hey do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse and care not how! _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._ I was too cred’lous at the first, To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang’d, unchang’d thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love’s no mair, thy promise nought. _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._ I wish I were a maid again! From young men’s flatt’ry I’d refrain; For now unto my grief I find They all are perjur’d and unkind; Bewitching charms bred all my harms;— Witness my babe lies in my arms. _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._ I take my fate from bad to worse, That I must needs be now a nurse, And lull my young son on my lap: From me, sweet orphan, take the pap. Balow, my child, thy mother mild Shall wail as from all bliss exil’d. _Balow_, _my boy_, _etc._