‘O I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry, Your father an’ your mother; An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry, Your sister an’ your brother. XXXII ‘An’ I’ll gar burn for you, Maisry, The chief of a’ your kin; An’ the last bonfire that I come to, Mysel’ I will cast in.’ FOOTNOTES: [455] aught = owed. [456] forlorn = lost to you. [457] baed = abode, tarried. [458] chap = knock. [459] biggins = buildings. [460] gleed = glowing fire, embers. _74. Bonny Bee Ho’m_ I By Arthur’s Dale as late I went I heard a heavy moan; I heard a ladie lamenting sair, And ay she cried ‘Ohone! II ‘Ohone, alas! what shall I do, Tormented night and day! I never loved a love but ane, And now he’s gone away. III ‘But I will do for my true-love What ladies wou’d think sair; For seven year shall come and go Ere a kaim[461] gang in my hair. IV ‘There shall neither a shoe gang on my foot, Nor a kaim gang in my hair, Nor e’er a coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower nae mair.’ V She thought her love had been on the sea, Fast sailing to Bee Ho’m; But he was in a quiet cham’er[462], Hearing his ladie’s moan. VI ‘Be husht, be husht, my ladie dear, I pray thee mourn not so; For I am deep sworn on a book To Bee Ho’m for to go.’ VII She has gien him a chain of the beaten gowd, And a ring with a ruby stone: ‘As lang as this chain your body binds, Your blude can never be drawn. VIII ‘But gin this ring shou’d fade or fail, Or the stone shou’d change its hue, Be sure your love is dead and gone, Or she has proved untrue.’ IX He had no been at Bonny Bee Ho’m A twelve month and a day, Till, looking on his gay gowd ring, The stone grew dark and gray. X ‘O ye take my riches to Bee Ho’m, And deal them presentlie, To the young that canna, the auld that maunna, And the blind that does not see. XI ‘Fight on, fight on, my merry men all! With you I’ll fight no more; But I will gang to some holy place And pray to the King of Glore[463].’ FOOTNOTES: [461] kaim = comb. [462] cham’er = chamber. [463] Glore = Glory. _75. Sir Patrick Spens_ I. _The Sailing._ I The king sits in Dunfermline town Drinking the blude-red wine; ‘O whare will I get a skeely[464] skipper To sail this new ship o’ mine?’ II O up and spak an eldern knight, Sat at the king’s right knee: ‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sail’d the sea.’ III Our king has written a braid letter, And seal’d it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. IV