"O call me no more Sir Donald, But call me young Donald your son; 70 For I have a bonnie young lady Behind me for to come in." "Come in, come in, bonnie Lizzie, Come in, come in," said he, "Although that our cottage be little, 75 Perhaps the better we'll 'gree. "O make us a supper, dear mother, And make it of curds an' green whey; And make us a bed o' green rushes, And cover it o'er wi' green hay." 80 "Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, Why lie ye so long in the day; Ye might ha'e been helping my mother To make the curds and green whey." "O haud your tongue, Sir Donald, 85 O haud your tongue I pray; I wish I had ne'er left my mother, I can neither make curds nor whey." "Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizzie, And put on your satins so fine; 90 For we maun to be at Kincassie Before that the clock strikes nine." But when they came to Kincassie The porter was standing by;-- "Ye're welcome home, Sir Donald, 95 Ye've been so long away." It's down then came his auld mither, With all the keys in her hand, Saying, "Take you these, bonnie Lizzie, All under them's at your command." LIZAE BAILLIE. From Herd's _Scottish Songs_, ii. 50. A longer version, from Buchan's larger collection, is in the Appendix. Mr. Chambers, assuming that the foregoing ballad of _Lizie Lindsay_ was originally the same as _Lizie Baillie_, has made out of various copies of both one story in two parts: _The Scottish Ballads_, p. 158. Smith has somewhat altered the language of this ballad: _Scottish Minstrel_, iv. 90. Lizae Baillie's to Gartartan gane, To see her sister Jean; And there she's met wi' Duncan Gr[ae]me, And he's convoy'd her hame. "My bonny Lizae Baillie, 5 I'll row ye in my plaidie, And ye maun gang alang wi' me, And be a Highland lady." "I'm sure they wadna ca' me wise, Gin I wad gang wi' you, Sir; 10 For I can neither card nor spin, Nor yet milk ewe or cow, Sir." "My bonny Lizae Baillie, Let nane o' these things daunt ye; Ye'll hae nae need to card or spin, 15 Your mither weel can want ye." Now she's cast aff her bonny shoen, Made o' the gilded leather, And she's put on her highland brogues, To skip amang the heather: 20 And she's cast aff her bonny gown, Made o' the silk and sattin, And she's put on a tartan plaid, To row amang the braken.