But fair Lady Anne on Sir William call'd, 5 With the tear grit in her ee, "O though thou be fause, may Heaven thee guard, In the wars ayont the sea!"-- Out of the wood came three bonnie boys, Upon the simmer's morn, 10 And they did sing and play at the ba', As naked as they were born. "O seven lang years wad I sit here, Amang the frost and snaw, A' to hae but ane o' these bonnie boys, 15 A playing at the ba'."-- Then up and spake the eldest boy, "Now listen, thou fair ladie, And ponder well the rede that I tell, Then make ye a choice of the three. 20 "'Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul, And that ane, sae fair to see, But a twelve-month sinsyne to paradise came, To join with our companie."-- "O I will hae the snaw-white boy, 25 The bonniest of the three."-- "And if I were thine, and in thy propine, O what wad ye do to me?"-- "'Tis I wad clead thee in silk and gowd, And nourice thee on my knee."-- 30 "O mither! mither! when I was thine, Sic kindness I couldna see. "Beneath the turf, where now I stand, The fause nurse buried me; The cruel penknife sticks still in my heart, 35 And I come not back to thee."-- * * * * * * * FINE FLOWERS IN THE VALLEY. From Johnson's _Musical Museum_, p. 331. The first line of the burden is found also in _The Cruel Brother_, p. 258. She sat down below a thorn, _Fine flowers in the valley_; And there she has her sweet babe born, _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. "Smile na sae sweet, my bonnie babe, 5 _Fine flowers in the valley_, And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead," _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. She's taen out her little penknife, _Fine flowers in the valley_, 10 And twinn'd the sweet babe o' its life, _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. She's howket a grave by the light o' the moon, _Fine flowers in the valley_, And there she's buried her sweet babe in, 15 _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. As she was going to the church, _Fine flowers in the valley_, She saw a sweet babe in the porch, _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. 20 "O sweet babe, and thou were mine, _Fine flowers in the valley_, I wad cleed thee in the silk so fine," _And the green leaves they grow rarely_. "O mother dear, when I was thine, 25 _Fine flowers in the valley_, Ye did na prove to me sae kind," _And the green leaves they grow rarely_.