"O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble steed, That stands your stable in? "The steed is mine, and it may be thine, 35 To ride whan ye ride in hie---- * * * * * * * "But awa', awa', my bald brethren, Awa', and mak nae din; For I am as sick a lady the nicht As e'er lay a bower within." 40 "O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble hawk, That stands your kitchen in?" "The hawk is mine, and it may be thine, 45 To hawk whan ye hawk in hie---- * * * * * * * "But awa', awa', my bald brethren! Awa', and mak nae din; For I'm ane o' the sickest ladies this nicht That e'er lay a bower within." 50 "O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is that, May Margaret, You and the wa' between?" "O it is my bower-maiden," she says, 55 "As sick as sick can be; O it is my bower maiden," she says, And she's thrice as sick as me." "We hae been east, and we've been west, And low beneath the moon; 60 But a' the bower-women e'er we saw Hadna goud buckles in their shoon." Then up and spak her eldest brither, Ay in ill time spak he: "It is Clerk Saunders, your true love, 65 And never mat I the, But for this scorn that he has done, This moment he sall die." But up and spak her youngest brother, Ay in good time spak he: 70 "O but they are a gudelie pair!-- True lovers an ye be, The sword that hangs at my sword belt Sall never sinder ye!" Syne up and spak her nexten brother, 75 And the tear stood in his ee: "You've lo'ed her lang, and lo'ed her weel, And pity it wad be, The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Shoud ever sinder ye!" 80 But up and spak her fifthen brother, "Sleep on your sleep for me; But we baith sall never sleep again, For the tane o' us sall die!" [But up and spak her midmaist brother; 85 And an angry laugh leugh he: "The thorn that dabs, I'll cut it down, Though fair the rose may be. "The flower that smell'd sae sweet yestreen Has lost its bloom wi' thee; 90 And though I'm wae it should be sae, Clerk Saunders, ye maun die."]