6 ‘Your gloves shall be the marygold, All glittering to your hand, Well spread oer wi the blue blaewort, That grows in corn-land.’ 7 ‘O fare you well, young man,’ she says, ‘Farewell, and I bid adieu; Since you’ve provided a weed for me, Among the summer flowers, Then I’ll provide another for you, Among the winter showers. 8 ‘The new-fallen snow to be your smock; Becomes your body neat; And your head shall be deckd with the eastern wind, And the cold rain on your breast.’ * * * * * B Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 187 1 All ye young men, I pray draw near, I’ll let you hear my mind Concerning those who fickle are, And inconstant as the wind. 2 A pretty maid who late livd here, And sweethearts many had, The gardener-lad he viewd them all, Just as they came and gaed. 3 The gardener-lad he viewd them all, But swore he had no skill: ‘If I were to go as oft to her, Ye surely would me kill. 4 ‘I’m sure she’s not a proper maid, I’m sure she is not tall;’ Another young man standing by, He said, Slight none at all. 5 ‘For we’re all come of woman,’ he said, ‘If ye woud call to mind, And to all women for her sake Ye surely should be kind.’ 6 ‘The summer hours and warm showers Make the trees yield in the ground, And kindly words will woman win, And this maid I’ll surround.’ 7 The maid then stood in her bower-door, As straight as ony wand, When by it came the gardener-lad, With his hat in his hand. 8 ‘Will ye live on fruit,’ he said? ‘Or will ye marry me? And amongst the flowers in my garden I’ll shape a weed for thee.’ 9 ‘I will live on fruit,’ she says, ‘But I’ll never marry thee; For I can live without mankind, And without mankind I’ll die.’ 10 ‘Ye shall not live without mankind, If ye’ll accept of me; For among the flowers in my garden I’ll shape a weed for thee. 11 ‘The lily white to be your smock; Becomes your body best; And the jelly-flower to be your quill, And the red rose in your breast. 12 ‘Your gown shall be o the pingo white, Your petticoat cammovine, Your apron o the seel o downs; Come smile, sweet heart o mine! 13 ‘Your shoes shall be o the gude rue red— Never did I garden ill— Your stockings o the mary mild; Come smile, sweet heart, your fill! 14 ‘Your gloves shall be o the green clover, Comes lockerin to your hand, Well dropped oer wi blue blavers, That grow among white land.’ 15 ‘Young man, ye’ve shap’d a weed for me, In summer among your flowers; Now I will shape another for you, Among the winter showers. 16 ‘The snow so white shall be your shirt; It becomes your body best; The cold bleak wind to be your coat, And the cold wind in your breast.