'Will you come home, my dear?' he said, 'Oh will you come home, my honey? And by the point of my broad sword, A hand I'll ne'er lay on you.' 'Last night I lay on a good feather-bed, And my own wedded lord beside me, And to-night I'll lie in the ash-corner, With the gypsies all around me. 'They took off my high-heeled shoes, That were made of Spanish leather, And I have put on coarse Lowland brogues, To trip it o'er the heather.' 'The Earl of Cashan is lying sick; Not one hair I'm sorry; I'd rather have a kiss from his fair lady's lips Than all his gold and his money.' THERE WERE THREE LADIES There were three ladies play'd at the ba', With a hey, hey, an' a lilly gay. Bye cam three lords an' woo'd them a', Whan the roses smelled sae sweetly. The first o' them was clad in yellow: 'O fair May, will ye be my marrow?' Whan the roses smelled sae sweetly. The niest o' them was clad i' ried: O fair May, will ye be my bride?' The thrid o' them was clad i' green: He said, 'O fair May, will ye be my queen?' THE HEIR OF LINNE PART I Lithe and listen, gentlemen, To sing a song I will begin: It is of a lord of faire Scotlànd, Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne. His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas! were dead, him froe, And he lov'd keeping companie. To spend the day with merry cheer, To drinke and revell every night, To card and dice from eve to morne, It was, I ween, his heart's delight. To ride, to run, to rant, to roar, To alwaye spend and never spare, I wot, an' it were the king himself, Of gold and fee he mote be bare. So fares the unthrifty lord of Linne Till all his gold is gone and spent; And he maun sell his lands so broad, His house, and lands, and all his rent. His father had a keen stewàrde, And John o' the Scales was called he: But John is become a gentel-man, And John has got both gold and fee. Says, Welcome, welcome, lord of Linne, Let nought disturb thy merry cheer; If thou wilt sell thy lands soe broad, Good store of gold I'll give thee here. My gold is gone, my money is spent; My land now take it unto thee: Give me the gold, good John o' the Scales, And thine for aye my land shall be. Then John he did him to record draw, And John he cast him a gods-pennie; But for every pound that John agreed, The land, I wis, was well worth three. He told him the gold upon the bord, He was right glad his land to win: The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now I'll be the lord of Linne. Thus he hath sold his land so broad, Both hill and holt, and moore and fenne, All but a poor and lonesome lodge, That stood far off in a lonely glen.