"O gentle nourice, still my bairn, O still him wi' the keys:" "He will not still, fair lady, Let me do what I please." "O still my bairn, kind nourice, 65 O still him wi' the ring:" "He will not still, my lady, Let me do any thing." "O still my bairn, gude nourice, O still him wi' the knife:" 70 "He will not still, dear mistress mine, Gin I'd lay down my life." "Sweet nourice, loud, loud cries my bairn, O still him wi' the bell:" "He will not still, dear lady, 75 Till ye cum down yoursell." The first step she stepped, She stepped on a stane, The next step she stepped, She met the Lammikin. 80 And when she saw the red, red blude, A loud skriech skrieched she: "O monster, monster, spare my child, Who never skaithed thee! "O spare, if in your bluidy breast 85 Abides not heart of stane! O spare, an' ye sall hae o' gold That ye can carry hame!" "I carena for your gold," he said, "I carena for your fee: 90 I hae been wranged by your lord, Black vengeance ye sall drie. "Here are nae serfs to guard your haa's, Nae trusty spearmen here; In yon green wood they sound the horn, 95 And chace the doe and deer. "Tho merry sounds the gude green wood Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn, Your lord sall rue ere sets yon sun He has done me skaith and scorn." 100 "O nourice, wanted ye your meat, Or wanted ye your fee, Or wanted ye for any thing, A fair lady could gie?" "I wanted for nae meat, ladie, 105 I wanted for nae fee; But I wanted for a hantle A fair lady could gie." Then Lammikin drew his red, red sword, And sharped it on a stane, 110 And through and through this fair ladie, The cauld, cauld steel is gane. Nor lang was't after this foul deed, Till Lord Weire cumin' hame, Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid 115 Sprinkled on a stane. "I wish a' may be weel," he says, "Wi' my ladie at hame; For the rings upon my fingers Are bursting in twain." 120 But mair he look'd, and dule saw he, On the door at the trance, Spots o' his dear ladys bluid Shining like a lance. "There's bluid in my nursery, 125 There's bluid in my ha', There's bluid in my fair lady's bower, An' that's warst of a'." O sweet, sweet sang the birdie, Upon the bough sae hie, 130 But little cared false nourice for that, For it was her gallows tree.