"And where's the bairns o' this house, That ca' me Lamkin?" "They're at the school reading; 'Twill be night or they come hame." "O where's the lady o' this house, That ca's me Lamkin?" "She's up in her bower sewing, But we soon can bring her down." Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, That hang down by his gaire, And he has gi'en the bonny babe A deep wound and a sair. Then Lamkin he rocked, And the fause nourice she sang, Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle The red blood out sprang. Then out it spak' the lady, As she stood on the stair: "What ails my bairn, nourice, That he's greeting sae sair? "O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the pap!" "He winna still, lady, For this nor for that." "O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the wand!" "He winna still, lady, For a' his father's land." "O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the bell!" "He winna still, lady, Till you come down yoursel." O the firsten step she steppit, She steppit on a stane; But the neisten step she steppit, She met him Lamkin. "O mercy, mercy, Lamkin, Hae mercy upon me! Though you've ta'en my young son's life, Ye may let mysel be." "O sall I kill her, nourice, Or sall I lat her be?" "O kill her, kill her, Lamkin, For she ne'er was good to me." "O scour the bason, nourice, And mak' it fair and clean, For to keep this lady's heart's blood, For she's come o' noble kin." "There need nae bason, Lamkin, Lat it run through the floor; What better is the heart's blood O' the rich than o' the poor?" But ere three months were at an end, Lord Wearie cam' again; But dowie, dowie was his heart When first he cam' hame. "O wha's blood is this," he says, "That lies in the chamer?" "It is your lady's heart's blood; 'Tis as clear as the lamer." "And wha's blood is this," he says, "That lies in my ha'?" "It is your young son's heart's blood; 'Tis the clearest ava." O sweetly sang the black-bird That sat upon the tree; But sairer grat Lamkin, When he was condemnd to die. And bonny sang the mavis, Out o' the thorny brake; But sairer grat the nourice, When she was tied to the stake. * * * * * HUGH OF LINCOLN. Four and twenty bonny boys Were playing at the ba', And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh, The flower amang them a'. He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot, And keppit it wi' his knee, Till even in at the Jew's window He gart the bonny ba' flee. "Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid, Cast out that ba' o' mine." "Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, "Till ye come up an' dine. "Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, Come up and get the ba'." "I winna come, I mayna come, Without my bonny boys a'." She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden, Where the grass grew lang and green, She's pu'd an apple red and white, To wyle the bonny boy in.