4 'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas, I pray thee grant it me; How many miles into your fair tower, And house where you would be?' 5 'Your asking fair, Lady Ellen,' he says, 'Shall now be granted thee; For to my castle where it stands Is thirty miles and three:' 'O wae is me,' says Lady Ellen, 'It will never be run by me.' 6 But up and spak the wily pyot, That sat upon the tree: 'Sae loud, sae loud, ye fause, fause knight, Sae loud as I hear you lie! 7 'For to your dwelling-house,' it says, 'Of miles it's scantly three:' 'O weel is me,' says Lady Ellen; 'It shall be run by me.' * * * * * * * 8 'O mither, mither, mak my bed, And mak it braid and wide, And lay my little page at my feet, Whatever may betide.' * * * * * * * 9 'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas, I pray thee grant it me; O grant me a cup of cold water, Between my young son and me.' 10 'What you do ask, Lady Ellen, Shall soon be granted thee; The best bread and the best wine, Between my young son and thee.' 11 'I ask again, my good Lord Thomas, I ask again of thee; The poorest cot-house in your land, Between my young son and me.' 12 'Your asking now, dear Lady Ellen, I quickly grant to thee; The best bower about my tower, Between my young son and thee.' G Buchan's MSS, II, 129. 1 The knight he stands in stable-door, Says he, I will go ride; The lady's kilted her gay cloathing, And ran low by his side. 2 He has ridden, and she has run, Till they came to yon water wan; He has ridden, and she has run, Like to his waiting man. 3 He has ridden, and she has run, Till they came on to Clyde; The knight he rode on high horseback, But the lady she bot wide. 4 The first step that the lady stepped, She stept into the knee; The bairn that was between her sides There he gied spartles three. 5 'Lie still, lie still, my bonny boy, Ye work your mother woe; Your father rides on high horseback, Cares little for us two.' 6 The nextand step that lady stepped. She stept into the pap; The bairn that was between her sides There spartled and he lap. 7 'Ly still, ly still, my bonny boy, You work your mother's woe; Your father rides on high horseback, Cares little for us two.' 8 In the middle of that water There stands a yird-fast stone; He turnd his horse head back again, Said, Lady, loup ye on. 9 She hadna ridden a mile, a mile, O never a mile but ane, Till she grew sick, and so weary She couldna ride nor gang.