English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VIII

Ballads, English -- England -- Texts; Ballads, Scots -- Scotland -- Texts

"But sen that ye will husyskep ken,                               25
      First ye sall sift and syne sall kned;
    And ay as ye gang but and ben,
      Luk that the bairnis dryt not the bed.
    Yeis lay ane soft wisp to the kill;
      We haif ane deir ferme on o[u]r heid;                           30
    And ay as ye gang furth and in,
      Keip weill the gaislingis fra the gled."

    The wyf was up richt late at evin,
      I pray God gif her evill to fair!
    Scho kyrnd the kyrne, and skumd it clene,                         35
      And left the gudeman bot the bledoch bair.
    Than in the mornyng up scho gatt,
      And on hir hairt laid hir disjune;
    Scho put als mekle in hir lap,
      As micht haif ser[v]d them baith at nune.                       40

    Sayis, "Jok, will thou be maister of wark,
      And thou sall had, and I sall kall;
    Ise promise thé ane gude new sark,
      Athir of round claith or of small."
    Scho lousit oxin aucht or nyne,                                   45
      And hynt ane gad-staff in hir hand;
    And the gudman raiss eftir syne,
      And saw the wyf had done command.

    And caud the gaislingis furth to feid;
      Thair was bot sevensum of thame all;                            50
    And by thair cumis the gredy gled,
      And likkit up five, left him bot twa.
    Than out he ran in all his mane,
      How sune he hard the gaislingis cry;
    Bot than or he come in agane,                                     55
      The calfis brak louss and sowkit the ky.

    The calvis and ky being met in the lone,
      The man ran with ane rung to red;
    Than by thair cumis ane ill-willy cow,
      And brodit his buttok quhill that it bled.                      60
    Than hame he ran to an rok of tow,
      And he satt doun to say the spynning;
    I trow he lowtit our neir the low,
      Quoth he, "This wark hes ill begynning."

    Than to the kyrn that he did stoure,                              65
      And jumlit at it quhill he swatt:
    Quhen he had jumlit a full lang houre,
      The sorrow crap of butter he gatt.
    Albeit na butter he could gett,
      Yit he wes cummerit with the kyrne,                             70
    And syne he het the milk our hett,
      And sorrow a spark of it wald yirne.

    Than ben thair come ane gredy sow,
      I trow he cund hir littil thank;
    For in scho schot hir mekle mow,                                  75
      And ay scho winkit and scho drank.
    He cleikit up ane crukit club,
      And thocht to hitt the sow ane rout;
    The twa gaislingis the gled had left,
      That straik dang baith thair harnis out.                        80

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English and Scottish Ballads, Volume VIII

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