5 'What leave ye to your brother, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your brother, my pretty little one?' 'The keys of my coffers and all that's therein; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.' 6 'What leave ye to your sister, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your sister, my pretty little one?' 'The world's wide, she may go beg; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.' 7 'What leave ye to your trew-love, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your trew-love, my pretty little one?' 'The highest hill to hang her on, for she's poisoned me and my hounds all; mother, make my bed soon, Oh I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.' D Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, III, 292. 1 'O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son? O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?' 'I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.' 2 'Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I din'd wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.' 3 'What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.' 4 'What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son? What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?' 'O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.' 5 'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son! O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!' 'O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.' E Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 261. "A version still popular in Scotland," 1849. 1 'Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son? Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'I've been in the wild woods; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.' 2 'Oh you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son! Oh you've been at your true-love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!' 'I've been at my true-love's; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.' 3 'What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son? What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'I got eels boild in brue; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'