The auld wife she gat owre the bed, To see if the thing was true; But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit? For into the creel she flew, flew; For into the creel she flew. The man that was at the chimley-top, Finding the creel was fu’, He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, And fast to him he drew, drew: And fast to him he drew. ‘O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help! O, help! O, hinny, do! For _him_ that ye aye wished me at, He’s carryin’ me off just noo, noo; He’s carryin’ me off just noo.’ ‘O! if the foul thief’s gotten ye, I wish he may keep his haud; For a’ the lee lang winter nicht, Ye’ll never lie in your bed, bed; Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’ He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down, He’s towed her through an’ through; ‘O, Gude! assist,’ quo’ the silly auld wife, ‘For I’m just departin’ noo, noo; For I’m just departin’ noo.’ He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down, He’s gien her a richt down fa’, Till every rib i’ the auld wife’s side, Played nick nack on the wa’, wa’; Played nick nack on the wa’. O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue, And I wish the blue may do weel; And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her dochter, May she get a good keach i’ the creel, creel; May she get a good keach i’ the creel! THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER. [THIS old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression, though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott’s _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_ is a ballad called the _Broomfield Hill_; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques to be found in that work.] A NOBLE young squire that lived in the West, He courted a young lady gay; And as he was merry he put forth a jest, A wager with her he would lay. ‘A wager with me,’ the young lady replied, ‘I pray about what must it be? If I like the humour you shan’t be denied, I love to be merry and free.’ Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred pounds, A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield, That a maid you return not again.’ ‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said, Then the money she flung down amain; ‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid, The same I’ll return home again.’ He covered her bet in the midst of the hall, With a hundred and ten jolly pounds; And then to his servant he straightway did call, For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds. A ready obedience the servant did yield, And all was made ready o’er night; Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield, To meet with his love and delight.