"O where is now my wedded lord, And where now can he be? 50 O where is now my wedded lord? For him I canna see."-- "Your wedded lord is dead," she says, "And just gane to be laid in the clay: Your wedded lord is dead," she says, 55 "And just gane to be buried the day. "Ye'se get nane o' his gowd, ye'se get nane o' his gear, Ye'se get nae thing frae me; Ye'se no get an inch o' his gude braid land, Though your heart suld burst in three."-- 60 "I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his gear, I want nae land frae thee: But I'll hae the rings that's on his finger, For them he did promise to me."-- "Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger, 65 Ye'se no get them frae me; Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger, An your heart suld burst in three."-- She's turn'd her back unto the wa', And her face unto a rock; 70 And there, before the mother's face, Her very heart it broke. The tane was buried in Marie's kirk, The tother in Marie's quair; And out o' the tane there sprang a birk, 75 And out o' the tother a brier. And thae twa met, and thae twa plat, The birk but and the brier; And by that ye may very weel ken They were twa lovers dear. 80 EARL ROBERT. "Given," says Motherwell, "from the recitation of an old woman, a native of Bonhill, in Dumbartonshire; and it is one of the earliest songs she remembers of having heard chanted on the classic banks of the Water of Leaven."--_Minstrelsy_, p. 200. Another copy is noted by the same editor as containing the following stanzas:-- Lord Robert and Mary Florence, They wer twa children ying; They were scarce seven years of age Till luve began to spring. Lord Robert loved Mary Florence, And she lov'd him above power; But he durst not for his cruel mither Bring her intill his bower. * * * * * It's fifty miles to Sittingen's rocks, As ever was ridden or gane; And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, But he dare na bring her hame. _And Earl Robert has wedded a wife_, &c. 5 His mother, she call'd to her waiting-maid: "O bring me a pint of wine, For I dinna weel ken what hour of this day That my son Earl Robert shall dine." She's put it to her fause, fause cheek, But an' her fause, fause chin; 10 She's put it to her fause, fause lips; But never a drap went in. But he's put it to his bonny cheek, Aye and his bonny chin; He's put it to his red rosy lips, 15 And the poison went merrily down.