Ancient Scottish ballads, recovered from tradition, and never before ...

234
"A bed, a bed," his lady cried,
"A bed, a bed, ye'll ne'er get nane;
# # # #
* * *
For I hae seven bauld brethren,
Bauld are they, and very rude,
And if they find ye in bouer wi' me,
They winna care to spill your blude."
" Ye'll tak a lang claith in your hand,
Ye'll haud it up afore your een;
That ye may swear, and save your aith,
That ye saw na Sandy sin yestreen.*
And ye'll tak me in your arms twa,
Ye'll carry me into your bed,
That ye may swear, and save your aith,
That in your bou'r floor I never gaed."
She's tane a lang claith in her hand,
She's hauden'tf up afore her een,
* Sin yestreen—since last evening, f Hauden't—held it.