Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, communicated by Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick, but enlarged from two fragments. 1 Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, He livd upon sea-sand; May Margaret was a king's daughter, She livd in upper land. 2 Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, Weel learned at the scheel; May Margaret was a king's daughter, They baith loed ither weel. 3 He's throw the dark, and throw the mark, And throw the leaves o green, Till he came to May Margaret's door, And tirled at the pin. 4 'O sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret, Or are ye the bower within?' 'O wha is that at my bower-door, Sae weel my name does ken?' 'It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true-love, You'll open and lat me in. 5 'O will ye to the cards, Margaret, Or to the table to dine? Or to the bed, that's weel down spread, And sleep when we get time?' 6 'I'll no go to the cards,' she says, 'Nor to the table to dine; But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread, And sleep when we get time.' 7 They were not weel lyen down, And no weel fa'en asleep, When up and stood May Margaret's brethren, Just up at their bed-feet. 8 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble steed, That stands your stable in?' 9 'The steed is mine, and it may be thine, To ride whan ye ride in hie; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 'But awa, awa, my bald brethren, Awa, and mak nae din; For I am as sick a lady the nicht As eèr lay a bower within.' 11 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble hawk, That stands your kitchen in?' 12 'The hawk is mine, and it may be thine, To hawk whan ye hawk in hie; . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13 'But awa, awa, my bald brethren, Awa, and mak nae din; For I'm ane o the sickest ladies this nicht That eer lay a bower within.' 14 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is that, May Margaret, You and the wa between?' 15 'O it is my bower-maiden,' she says, 'As sick as sick can be; O it is my bower-maiden,' she says, 'And she's thrice as sick as me.' 16 'We hae been east, and we've been west, And low beneath the moon; But a' the bower-women eer we saw Hadna goud buckles in their shoon.' 17 Then up and spak her eldest brither, Ay in ill time spak he: 'It is Clerk Saunders, your true-love, And never mat I the But for this scorn that he has done This moment he sall die.'