"Too roun I gae, yet blame me nae; Ye'll cause me na to shame; For better luve I that bonnie boy Than a' your weel-bred men." 20 The king's ca'd up his wa'-wight men, That he paid meat an' fee: "Bring here to me that bonnie boy, An' we'll smore him right quietlie." Up hae they ta'en that bonnie boy, 25 Put him 'tween twa feather beds; Naethin' was dane, nor naethin' said, Till that bonnie bonnie boy was dead. The king's ta'en out a braid braid sword, An' streak'd it on a strae; 30 An' thro' an' thro' that bonnie boy's heart He's gart cauld iron gae. Out has he ta'en his poor bluidie heart, Set it in a tasse o' gowd, And set it before ladye Diamonds face, 35 Said "Fair ladye, behold!" Up has she ta'en this poor bludie heart, An' holden it in her han'; "Better luved I that bonnie bonnie boy Than a' my father's lan'." 40 Up has she ta'en his poor bludie heart, An' laid it at her head; The tears awa' frae her eyne did flee, An' ere midnicht she was dead. THE WEST COUNTRY DAMOSELS COMPLAINT. From Collier's _Book of Roxburghe Ballads_, p. 202. After a broadside "printed by P. Brooksby, at the Golden Bull in Westsmith-field, neer the Hospitall Gate." The first ten or twelve stanzas seem to be ancient. "When will you marry me, William, And make me your wedded wife? Or take you your keen bright sword, And rid me out of my life." "Say no more then so,[L5] lady, 5 Say you no more then so, For you shall unto the wild forrest, And amongst the buck and doe. "Where thou shalt eat of the hips and haws, And the roots that are so sweet, 10 And thou shalt drink of the cold water That runs underneath your feet." Now had she not been in the wild forrest Passing three months and a day, But with hunger and cold she had her fill, 15 Till she was quite worn away. At last she saw a fair tyl'd house, And there she swore by the rood, That she would to that fair tyl'd house, There for to get her some food. 20 But when she came unto the gates, Aloud, aloud she cry'd, "An alms, an alms, my own sister! I ask you for no pride." Her sister call'd up her merry men all, 25 By one, by two, and by three, And bid them hunt away that wild doe, As far as e'er they could see. They hunted her o're hill and dale, And they hunted her so sore, 30 That they hunted her into the forrest, Where her sorrows grew more and more.