28 She had nae turned her throw the dance, Throw the dance but thrice, Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet, And up did never rise. 29 Willie's taen the key of his coffer, And gien it to his man: 'Gae hame, and tell my mother dear My horse he has me slain; Bid her be kind to my young son, For father he has nane.' 30 The tane was buried in Marie's kirk, And the tither in Marie's quire; Out of the tane there grew a birk, And the tither a bonny brier. B Motherwell's MS., p. 357, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan. 1 'If you do love me weel, Willie, Ye'll shew to me truelie; Ye'll build to me a bonnie ship, And set her on the sea.' 2 He did love her very weel, He shewed to her trulie; He builded her a bonnie ship, And set her on the sea. 3 They had not sailed one league, one league, One league but only three, Till sharp, sharp showers fair Janet took, She grew sick and like to die. 4 'If you do love me weel, Willie, Ye'll shew to me trulye; Ye'll tak me to my mother's bower, Whare I was wont to be.' 5 He did love her very weel, He shewed to her trulye; He took her to her mother's bower, Whare she was wont to be. 6 'It's ye'll stand up at my richt side, You will on tiptaes stand, Until you hear your auld son weep, But an your Janet mourn. 7 'Come take your auld son in your arms, He is both large and lang; Come take your auld son in your arms, And for a nourice gang.' 8 He is to his mother's bowers, An hour or it struck nine: 'I have a babe into my arms, He'll die for nouricing.' 9 'Goe home, go home, my son,' she says, 'And mak thy Jenny blythe; If ae nurse winna sere her son, It's I'll provide him five.' 10 Fair Janet was nae weel lichter, Nor weel doun on her side, Till ben and cam her father dear, Saying, Wha will busk our bride? 11 Ben and cam her brethren dear, Saying, Wha will busk our bride? And wha will saddle our bride's horse? Whom ahint will she ride? 12 'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear, And let your folly be, For I'm sae fair and full of hair Sma busking will serve me. 13 'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear, And let your folly be, For I will ride behint William, He will best wait on me. 14 'Willie, lay the saddle saft, And lead the bridle soun, And when we come to Mary's Kirk, Ye'll set me hooly down.' 15 Supper scarslie was owre, Nor musick weel fa'n to, Till ben and cam the bride's brethren, Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me: 'Awa, awa, my brethren dear, For dancing's no for me.'