7 Their father he went to Bloomsbury, He turnit him roun about, An there he saw his twa braw sons, In the prison, leukin out. 8 'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons, Or lie ye there for kye? Or lie ye there for dear fond love, Si closs as ye de lie?' 9 'We lie na here for owsen, father, We lie na here for kye, But we lie here for dear fond love, An we're condemned to die.' * * * * * * * 10 Then out bespak the clerks' fader, An a sorry man was he: 'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers, For a' this winna dee.' 11 Then out bespak the aul base mayr, An an angry man was he: 'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores, Ye'll see them hanged hie.' * * * * * * * C Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281. 1 I'll tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song, Will grieve your heart full sair; How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford Went aff to learn their lear. 2 Their father lovd them very weel, Their mother muckle mair, And sent them on to Billsbury, To learn deeper lear. 3 Then out it spake their mother dear: 'Do weel, my sons, do weel, And haunt not wi the young women, Wi them to play the fiel.' 4 Their father sware them on their souls, Their mother on their life, Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters, Nor kiss the young mayor's wife. 5 But they hadna been in Billsbury A twallmonth and a day, Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With the mayor's twa daughters lay. 6 As these twa clerks they sat and wrote, The ladies sewed and sang; There was mair mirth in that chamber Than all fair Ferrol's land. 7 But word's gane to the wicked mayor, As he sat at the wine, That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With his twa daughters had lyne. 8 'O have they lain with my daughters dear, Heirs out ower a' my land, The morn, ere I eat or drink, I'll hang them with my hand.' 9 Then he has taen the twa bonny clerks, Bound them frae tap to tae, Till the reddest blood in their body Out ower their nails did gae. 10 'Whare will I get a little wee boy, Will win gowd to his fee, That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right speedilie?' 11 Then up it starts a bonny boy, Gold yellow was his hair; I wish his father and mother joy, His true-love muckle mair. 12 Says, Here am I, a little wee boy, Will win gowd to my fee, That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right speedilie. 13 'Where ye find the grass green growing, Set down your heel and rin, And where ye find the brigs broken, Ye'll bend your bow and swim.