2 As I lay sick, and very sick, And sick was I, and like to die, And Blacklaywood put in my love’s ears That he staid in bower too lang wi me. 3 As I lay sick, and very sick, And sick was I, and like to die, And walking into my garden green, I heard my good lord lichtlie me. 4 Now woe betide ye, Blacklaywood! I’m sure an ill death you must die; Ye’ll part me and my ain good lord, And his face again I’ll never see. 5 ‘Come down stairs now, Jamie Douglas, Come down stairs and drink wine wi me; I’ll set thee into a chair of gold, And not one farthing shall it cost thee.’ 6 ‘When cockle-shells turn silver bells, And muscles grow on every tree, When frost and snaw turn fiery baas, I’ll come down the stair and drink wine wi thee.’ 7 ‘What’s needs me value you, Jamie Douglas, More than you do value me? The Earl of Mar is my father, The Duke of York is my brother gay. 8 ‘But when my father gets word o this, I trow a sorry man he’ll be; He’ll send four score o his soldiers brave To tak me hame to mine ain countrie.’ 9 As I lay owre my castell-wa, I beheld my father comin for me, Wi trumpets sounding on every side; But they werena music at a’ for me. 10 ‘And fare ye weel now, Jamie Douglas! And fare ye weel, my children three! And fare ye weel, my own good lord! For my face again ye shall never see. 11 ‘And fare ye weel now, Jamie Douglas! And fare ye weel, my children three! And fare ye weel now, Jamie Douglas! But my youngest son shall gae wi me.’ 12 ‘What ails ye at yer youngest son, Sits smilin at the nurse’s knee? I’m sure he never knew any harm, Except it was from his nurse or thee.’ 13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And when I was into my coaches set, He made his trumpets a’ to soun. 14 I’ve heard it said, and it’s oft times seen, The hawk that flies far frae her nest; And a’ the world shall plainly see It’s Jamie Douglas that I love best. 15 Ive heard it said, and [it’s] oft times seen, The hawk that flies from tree to tree; And a’ the world shall plainly see It’s for Jamie Douglas I maun die. * * * * * C Kinloch MSS, V, 207, I, 103; from John Rae, Lesmahago. 1 O wally, wally up yon bank! And wally down yon brae! And wally, wally up yon burn-side, Where me and my lord wont to gae! 2 I leand me on yon saugh sae sweet, I leand me on yon saugh sae sour, And my gude lord has forsaken me, And he swears he’ll never loe me more. 3 There came a young man to this town, And Jamie Lockhart was his name; Fause Blackwood lilted in my lord’s ear That I was in the bed wi him.