10 'I,' bespake the first o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear a brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.' 11 'I,' bespake the second of them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'We will gae back, let him alane, His father has nae mair but he.' 12 'I,' bespake the third o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly help to gar him die.' 13 'I,' bespake the fourth o them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall never help to gar him die.' 14 'I,' bespake the fifth o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'Altho his father hae nae mair, I'll quickly help to gar him die.' 15 'I,' bespake the sixth o them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'He's a worthy earl's son, I'll never help to gar him die.' 16 'I,' bespake the seventh of them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.' 17 They baith lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the sun began to sheen; She drew the curtains a wee bit, And dull and drowsie was his een. 18 'This night,' said she, 'the sleepiest man That ever my twa eyes did see Hay lyen by me, and sweat the sheets; A wite they're a great shame to see.' 19 She rowd the claiths a' to the foot, And then she spied his deadly wounds: 'O wae be to my seven brethern, A wat an ill death mat they die! 20 'I'm sure it was neither rogue nor loun I had into my bed wi me; 'T was Clerk Saunders, that good earl's son, That pledgd his faith to marry me.' C Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233, a North Country version. 1 It was a sad and a rainy nicht As ever raind frae toun to toun; Clerk Saunders and his lady gay They were in the fields sae broun. 2 'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders cried, 'A bed, a bed, let me lie doun; For I am sae weet and sae wearie That I canna gae nor ride frae toun.' 3 'A bed, a bed,' his lady cried, 'A bed, a bed, ye'll neer get nane; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4 'For I hae seven bauld brethren, Bauld are they, and very rude; And if they find ye in bouer wi me, They winna care to spill your blude.' 5 'Ye'll tak a lang claith in your hand, Ye'll haud it up afore your een, That ye may swear, and save your aith, That ye saw na Sandy sin yestreen. 6 'And ye'll tak me in your arms twa, Ye'll carry me into your bed, That ye may swear, and save your aith, That in your bour-floor I never gaed.'