15 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this place, An I wish that they were seven hares, To run the castle race, An I mysel a good gray houn, An I woud gi them chase. 16 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this ha; I wish that they were seven rottons, To rin the castle wa, An I mysell a good gray cat, I wot I woud worry them a' 17 'The earle o Richmond was my father, An the lady was my mother, An a' the bairns bisides mysel Was a sister an a brother.' 18 'Sing on, sing on, ye gay lady, I wot ye hae sung in time; Gin the earle o Richmond was your father, I wot sae was he mine.' 19 'Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride; I think my bed's but caul; I woudna hear my lady lament For your tocher ten times taul. 20 'O seven ships did bring you here, An an sal tak you hame; The leve I'll keep to your sister Jane, For tocher she gat nane.' F Motherwell's MS., p. 385; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 327. From the recitation of Mrs Rule, Paisley, August 16, 1825. 1 'Learn to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane, For I maun owre the salt seas gang, A brisk bride to bring hame. 2 'Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, And tye it in your neck, And see you look as maiden-like As the first day that we met.' 3 'O how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be; When seven brave sons I've born to thee, And the eighth is in my bodie? 4 'The eldest of your sons, my lord, Wi red gold shines his weed; The second of your sons, my lord, Rides on a milk-white steed. 5 'And the third of your sons, my lord, He draws your beer and wine, And the fourth of your sons, my lord, Can serve you when you dine. 6 'And the fift of your sons, my lord, He can both read and write, And the sixth of your sons, my lord, Can do it maist perfyte. 7 'And the sevent of your sons, my lord, Sits on the nurse's knee; And how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be? 8 'But wha will bake your wedding bread, And brew your bridal ale? Or wha will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring owre the dale?' 9 'I'll put cooks in my kitchen, And stewards in my hall, And I'll have bakers for my bread, And brewers for my ale; But you're to welcome my brisk bride, That I bring owre the dale.' 10 He set his fut into his ship, And his cock-boat on the main; He swore it would be year and day Or he returned again. 11 When year and day was past and gane, Fair Annie she thocht lang, And she is up to her bower-head, To behold both sea and land.