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“Gie owre your house, ye lady fair, But on the point o' Gordon's spear
She gat a deadly fa'.
O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks, “I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon, And clear, clear was her yellow hair, To nae sic traitor as thee;
Whereon the red blood dreeps.
Then wi' his spear he turned her owre ;
O gin her face was way !
I wished alive again.”
He cam' and lookit again at her;
() gin her skin was white ! She stood upon her castle wa',
“I might hae spared that bonnie face And let twa bullets flee :
To hae been some man's delight."
“ Busk and boun, my merry men a',
For ill dooms 1 do guess ;"Set fire to the house !" quo' fause Gordon, I cannot look on that bonnie face Wud wi' dule anıl ire:
As it lies on the grass.' “Fause ladye, ye sall rue that shot As ye burn in the fire !"
“Wha looks to freits, my master dear,
Its freits will follow them; “Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man! Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon I paid ye weel your fee;
Was daunted by a dame."
But when the ladye saw the fire
Come flaming o'er her head, "And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man! She wept, and kissed her children twain, I paid ye weel your hire;
Says, “ Bairns, we been but dead." Why pu' ye out the grund-wa' stane, To mne lets in the fire?"
The Gordon then his bugle blew,
And said, “ Awa', awa'! “Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, This house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame; Ye paid me weel my fee:
I hauld it time to ga'.”
And this way lookit her ain dear lord,
As he caine owre the lea; O then bespake her little son,
He saw his castle a' in a lowe,
Sae far as he could see.
“Put on, put on, my wighty men,
As fast as ye can dri'e ! “ I wad gie a' my goud, my bairn, For he that 's hindmost o' the thrang Sae wad I a' my fee,
Sall ne'er get good o' me."
Then some they rade, and some they ran,
Out-owre the grass and bent;
Baith lady and babes were brent.
And after the Gorion he is gane,
Sae fast as he might drie; They row'd her in a pair o' sheets, And soon i' the Gorilon's foul heart's blude And tow'd her owre the wa';
He's wroken his fair ladye.
If thou wilt prove a good husband,
E'en take thy auld cloak about thee." TAKE THY AULD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.
Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, In winter, when the rain rained caula, But she will rule me if she can:
And frost and snow were on the hill, And oft, to lead a quiet life, And Boreas with his blasts sae bâuld I'm forced to yield, though I'm gudeWas threat'ning all our kye to kill;
man. Then Bell, my wife, wha loves not strife, It's not for a man with a woman to She said to me right hastilie,
threate “Get up, gudeman, save Crummie's life, Unless he first give o'er the plea : And take thy auld cloak about thee ! As we began so will we leave,
And I'll take my auld cloak about me. “Cow Crummie is a useful cow,
And she is come of a good kin' ; Aft has she wet the bairnies' mou',
And I am laith that she should pine:
THE BARRING O' THE DOOR. Gae, take thy auld cloak about thee!"
It fell about the Martinmas time, “My cloak was once a gude gray cloak, And a gay time it was than, When it was fitting for my wear;
When our gudewife got puddings to But now it's scantly worth a groat,
make, For I hae worn 't this thirty year : And she boiled them in the pan. Let's spend the gear that we hae won,
We little ken the day we'll dee; The wind sae cauld blew east and north, Then I'll be proud, since I hae sworn It blew into the floor: To hae a new cloak about me.
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
“Gae out and bar the door!” "In days when our King Robert reigned,
His breeches cost but half a crown; “My hand is in my huswif's kap, He said they were a groat too dear, Gudeman, as ye may see;
And ca'd the tailor thief and loun. An’it should nae be barred this hundred He was the king that wore the crown,
year, And thou the man of low degree: It's no be barred for me.” It's pride puts a' the country down, Sae take thy auld cloak about thee!" They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure, “O Bell, my wife, why dost thou flout? That the first word whae'er should speak Now is now, and then was then.
Should rise and bar the door.
At twelve o'clock at night ;
hall, Sae far above their ain degree:
Nor coal nor candle light. Once in my life I'll do as they, For I 'll have a new cloak about me." And first they ate the white puddings,
And then they ate the black; “Gudeman, I wot it's thirty year Though muckle thought the gudewife to Sin' we did ane anither ken,
hersel, And we hae had atween us twa
Yet ne'er a word she spak'.
I wish and pray weel may they be: “Here, man, tak' ye my knife!
0, up then started our gudeman,
For swelling waves our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise, And an angry man was he: “Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
Exchange ; and be awhile our guests: And scaud me wi' puddin' bree?"
For stars, gaze on our eyes.
The compass, love shall hourly sing, Then up and started our gudewife,
And, as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss Gied three skips on the floor : "Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. word, Get up and bar the door!"