Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid ye weel your fee; Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, Lets in the reek to me? ‘And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man! I paid ye weel your hire; Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, To me lets in the fire?’ ‘Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, Ye paid me weel my fee: But now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man-- Maun either do or die.’ O then bespake her little son, Sat on the nurse’s knee: Says, ‘Mither dear, gie owre this house, For the reek it smithers me.’ wud] mad. grund-wa’] ground-wall. ‘I wad gie a’ my gowd, my bairn, Sae wad I a’ my fee, For ae blast o’ the western wind, To blaw the reek frae thee.’ O then bespake her dochter dear-- She was baith jimp and sma’: ‘O row me in a pair o’ sheets, And tow me owre the wa’!’ They row’d her in a pair o’ sheets, And tow’d her owre the wa’; But on the point o’ Gordon’s spear She gat a deadly fa’. O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheiks, And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red blood dreips. Then wi’ his spear he turn’d her owre; O gin her face was wane! He said, ‘Ye are the first that e’er I wish’d alive again.’ He turn’d her owre and owre again; O gin her skin was white! ‘I might hae spared that bonnie face To hae been some man’s delight. ‘Busk and boun, my merry men a’, For ill dooms I do guess; I canna look in that bonnie face As it lies on the grass.’ jimp] slender, trim. row] roll, wrap. Busk and boun] trim up and prepare to go. ‘Wha looks to freits, my master dear, It’s freits will follow them; Let it ne’er be said that Edom o’ Gordon Was daunted by a dame.’ But when the lady saw the fire Come flaming owre her head, She wept, and kiss’d her children twain, Says, ‘Bairns, we been but dead.’ The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said, ‘Awa’, awa’! This house o’ the Rodes is a’ in a flame; I hauld it time to ga’.’ And this way lookit her ain dear lord, As he cam owre the lea; He saw his castle a’ in a lowe, As far as he could see. Then sair, O sair, his mind misgave, And all his heart was wae: ‘Put on, put on, my wighty men, Sae fast as ye can gae. ‘Put on, put on, my wighty men, Sae fast as ye can drie! For he that’s hindmost o’ the thrang Sall ne’er get good o’ me.’ Then some they rade, and some they ran, Out-owre the grass and bent; But ere the foremost could win up, Baith lady and babes were brent. freits] ill omens. lowe] flame. wighty] stout, doughty. And after the Gordon he is gane, Sae fast as he might drie; And soon i’ the Gordon’s foul heart’s blude He’s wroken his dear ladye. wroken] avenged.