“Now take frae me that feather-bed, Make me a bed of strae! I wish I hadna lived this day, To make my heart sae wae. “If I were ance at London Tow’r, Where I was wont to be, I never mair shou’d gang frae hame, Till borne on a bier-tree.” THE BROOMFIELD HILL THERE was a knight and lady bright Set trysts amo the broom, The one to come at morning eav, The other at afternoon. “I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” he said, “An hundred marks and ten, That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills, Return a maiden again.” “I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” she said, “A hundred pounds and ten, That I will gang to Broomfield Hills, A maiden return again.” The lady stands in her bower door, And thus she made her mane: “Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills, Or shall I stay at hame? “If I do gang to Broomfield Hills A maid I’ll not return; But if I stay from Broomfield Hills, I’ll be a maid mis-sworn.” Then out it speaks an auld witch wife, Sat in the bower aboon: “O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills, Ye shall not stay at hame. “But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills, Walk nine times round and round; Down below a bonny burn bank, Ye’ll find your love sleeping sound. “Ye’ll pu the bloom frae off the broom, Strew’t at his head and feet, And aye the thicker that ye do strew, The sounder he will sleep. “The broach that is on your napkin, Put it on his breast bane, To let him know, when he does wake, That’s true love’s come and gane. “The rings that are on your fingers, Lay them down on a stane, To let him know, when he does wake, That’s true love’s come and gane. “And when he hae your work all done, Ye’ll gang to a bush o’ broom, And then you’ll hear what he will say, When he sees ye are gane.” When she came to Broomfield Hills, She walked it nine times round, And down below yon burn bank, She found him sleeping sound. She pu’d the bloom frae off the broom, Strew’d it at ’s head and feet, And aye the thicker that she strewd, The sounder he did sleep. The broach that was on her napkin, She put it on his breast-bane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane. The rings that were on her fingers, She laid upon a stane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane. Now when she had her work all dune, She went to a bush o’ broom, That she might hear what he did say, When he saw that she was gane. “O where were ye my guid grey hound, That I paid for sae dear, Ye didna waken me frae my sleep When my true love was sae near?” “I scraped wi’ my foot, master, Till a’ my collars rang, But still the mair that I did scrape, Waken woud ye nane.”