"Till up to me come ye." "How will I come up? How can I come up? How can I come to thee? For as ye did to my auld father, The same ye'll do to me." (_gar'd_, made.) She's gane till her father's garden, And pu'd an apple, red and green; 'Twas a' to wile him, sweet Sir Hugh, And to entice him in. She's led him in through ae dark door, And sae has she through nine; She's laid him on a dressing table, And stickit him like a swine. And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin; And syne came out the bonny heart's blood; There was nae mair within. She's row'd him in a cake o' lead, Bade him lie still and sleep; She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well, Was fifty fathom deep. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The Lady Maisry gat nane. She's ta'en her mantle her about, Her coffer by the hand; And she's gane out to seek her son, And wander'd o'er the land. (_row'd_, rolled.) She's done her to the Jew's castle, Where a' were fast asleep; "Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak." She's done her to the Jew's garden, Thought he had been gathering fruit; "Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak.'' She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep; "Where'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak.'' "Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear; Prepare my winding sheet; And, at the back o' merry Lincoln, The morn I will you meet." Now Lady Maisry is gane hame; Made him a winding sheet; And, at the back o' merry Lincoln, The dead corpse did her meet. And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln, Without men's hands were rung; And a' the books o' merry Lincoln, Were read without man's tongue; And ne'er was such a burial Sin Adam's days begun. [Illustration: 0140] SIR PATRICK SPENCE |The king sits in Dumferling toun, Drinking the blude-red wine: "O where will I get guid sailor, To sail this ship of mine?" Up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the kings right knee: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the sea." The king has written a braid letter, And signed it wi' his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick read, A loud laugh laughed he: The next line that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee. "O wha is this has done this deed, This ill deed done to me; To send me out this time o' the year, To sail upon the sea? "Mak haste, mak haste, my merry men all, Our guid ship sails the morn." "O say na sae, my master dear, For I fear a deadly storm. "Late late yestreen I saw the new moon Wi' the auld moon in her arm;