4 But they were scarsley gone to bed, Nor scarse fa'n owre asleep, Till up and started her seven brethren, Just at Lord Saunders' feet. 5 Out bespoke the first brither, 'Oh but love be wondrous keen!' Out bespoke the second brither, 'It's ill done to kill a sleeping man.' 6 Out bespoke the third brither, 'We had better gae and let him be;' Out bespoke the fourth brither, 'He'll no be killd this night for me:' 7 Out bespoke the fifth brother, 'This night Lord Saunders he shall die; Tho there were not a man in all Scotland, This night Lord Saunders he shall die.' 8 He took out a rousty rapier, And he drew it three times thro the strae; Between Lord Saunders' short rib and his side He gard the rusty rapier gae. 9 'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said, 'Awake, awake, for sin and shame! For the day is light, and the sun shines bricht, And I am afraid we will be taen. 10 'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said, 'Awake, awake, for sin and shame! For the sheets they are asweat,' she said, 'And I am afraid we will be taen. 11 'I dreamed a dreary dream last night, I wish it may be for our good, That I was cutting my yellow hair, And dipping it in the wells o blood.' 12 Aye she waukened at this dead man, Aye she put on him to and fro; Oh aye she waukend at this dead man, But of his death she did not know. * * * * * * * 13 'It's I will do for my love's sake What many ladies would think lang; Seven years shall come and go Before a glove go on my hand. 14 'And I will do for my love's sake What many ladies would not do; Seven years shall come and go Before I wear stocking or shoe. 15 'Ther'll neer a shirt go on my back, There'll neer a kame go in my hair, There'll never coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower nae mair.' E Motherwell MS., p. 199, from Widow Smith, George Street, Paisley. 1 An ensign and a lady gay, As they were walking on a green, The ensign said to the lady gay, Will you tak me to your bower at een? 2 'I have seven bluidy brithers, Och and to you they have nae good will; And if they catch you in my bower, They'll value not your bluid to spill.' 3 'O you may take me on your back, And carry me to your chamber-bed, That I may swear, and avow richt clear, That your flowery bower I did never tread. 4 'O take a napkin from your pocket, And with it blindfold my een, That I may swear, and avow richt clear, That your flowery bower I have never seen.'