17 ‘But wae be to your ewe-herd, father, And an ill deed may he die! He bug the bought at the back o the know And a tod has frighted me. 18 ‘There came a tod to the bought-door, The like I never saw; And ere he had taken the lamb he did I had lourd he had taen them a’.’ 19 O whan fifteen weeks was come and gane, Fifteen weeks and three, That lassie began to look thin and pale, An to long for his merry-twinkling ee. 20 It fell on a day, on a het simmer day, She was ca’ing out her father’s kye, By came a troop o gentlemen, A’ merrilie riding bye. 21 ‘Weel may ye save an see, bonny may! Weel may ye save and see! Weel I wat ye be a very bonny may, But whae’s aught that babe ye are wi?’ 22 Never a word could that lassie say, For never a ane could she blame, An never a word could the lassie say, But, I have a good man at hame. 23 ‘Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonny may, Sae loud as I hear you lie! For dinna ye mind that misty night I was i the bought wi thee? 24 ‘I ken you by your middle sae jimp, An your merry-twinkling ee, That ye’re the bonny lass i the Cowdenknow, An ye may weel seem for to be.’ 25 Than he’s leapd off his berry-brown steed, An he’s set that fair may on: ‘Caw out your kye, gude father, yoursel, For she’s never caw them out again. 26 ‘I am the laird of the Oakland hills, I hae thirty plows and three, An I hae gotten the bonniest lass That’s in a’ the south country.’ * * * * * H Kinloch MSS, I, 137; from Mrs Boutchart. 1 There was a may, a maiden sae gay, Went out wi her milking-pail; Lang she foucht or her ewes wad bucht, And syne she a milking fell. 2 And ay as she sang the rocks they rang, Her voice gaed loud and shill; Ye wad hae heard the voice o the maid On the tap o the ither hill. 3 And ay she sang, and the rocks they rang, Her voice gaed loud and hie; Till by there cam a troop o gentlemen, A riding up that way. 4 ‘Weel may ye sing, ye bonnie may, Weel and weel may ye sing! The nicht is misty, weet, and mirk, And we hae ridden wrang.’ 5 ‘Haud by the gate ye cam, kind sir, Haud by the gate ye cam; But tak tent o the rank river, For our streams are unco strang.’ 6 ‘Can ye na pity me, fair may, Canna ye pity me? Canna ye pity my puir steed, Stands trembling at yon tree?’ 7 ‘What pity wad ye hae, kind sir? What wad ye hae frae me? If he has neither corn nor hay, He has gerss at libertie.’ 8 ‘Can ye na pity me, fair may, Can ye na pity me? Can ye na pity a gentle knicht That’s deeing for love o thee?’ 9 He’s tane her by the milk-white hand, And by the gerss-green sleeve; He’s laid her laigh at the bucht-end, At her kin speird na leave.