'WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude, Edward, Edward? Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, And why sae sad gang ye, O?' 'O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude, And I had nae mair but he, O.' 'Your hawk's blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward; Your hawk's blude was never sae red, My dear son, I tell thee, O.' 'O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my red-roan steed, That erst was sae fair and free, O.' 'Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair, Edward, Edward; Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair; Some other dule ye dree, O.' 'O I hae kill'd my father dear, Mither, mither; O I hae kill'd my father dear, Alas, and wae is me, O!' 'And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward? Whatten penance will ye dree for that? My dear son, now tell me, O.' 'I'll set my feet in yonder boat, Mither, mither; I'll set my feet in yonder boat, And I'll fare over the sea, O.' 'And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', Edward, Edward? And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', That were sae fair to see, O?' 'I'll let them stand till they doun fa', Mither, mither; I'll let them stand till they doun fa', For here never mair maun I be, O.' 'And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang owre the sea, O?' 'The warld's room: let them beg through life, Mither, mither; The warld's room: let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, O.' 'And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, My dear son, now tell me, O?' 'The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear, Mither, mither; The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear: Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!' dule ye dree] grief you suffer. Ballads and Songs By Unknown Authors. 17th Cent. 374. Edom o' Gordon IT fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 'We maun draw to a hauld. 'And what a hauld sall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae to the house o' the Rodes, To see that fair ladye.' The lady stood on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down; There she was ware of a host of men Cam riding towards the town. 'O see ye not, my merry men a', O see ye not what I see? Methinks I see a host of men; I marvel wha they be.' She ween'd it had been her lovely lord, As he cam riding hame; It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame. She had nae sooner buskit hersell, And putten on her gown, But Edom o' Gordon an' his men Were round about the town. They had nae sooner supper set, Nae sooner said the grace, But Edom o' Gordon an' his men Were lighted about the place.