Part 7

He kickd the ba with his right foot And catchd it wi his knee, And throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window He gard the bonny ba flee.

He’s doen him to the Jew’s castell And walkd it round about; And there he saw the Jew’s daughter, At the window looking out.

“Throw down the ba, ye Jew’s daughter, Throw down the ba to me!” “Never a bit,” says the Jew’s daughter, “Till up to me come ye.”

“How will I come up? How can I come up? How can I come to thee? For as ye did to my auld father, The same ye’ll do to me.”

She’s gane till her father’s garden, And pu’d an apple red and green; ’Twas a’ to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh, And to entice him in.

She’s led him in through ae dark door, And sae has she thro nine; She’s laid him on a dressing-table, And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin; And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood; There was nae mair within.

She’s rowd him in a cake o lead, Bade him lie still and sleep; She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a’ the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The Lady Maisry gat nane.

She’s taen her mantle her about, Her coffer by the hand, And she’s gane out to seek her son, And wandered o’er the land.

She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell, Where a’ were fast asleep: “Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak.”

“Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear, Prepare my winding-sheet, And at the back o merry Lincoln The morn I will you meet.”

Now Lady Maisry is gane hame, Make him a winding-sheet, And at the back o merry Lincoln, The dead corpse did her meet.

And a the bells o merry Lincoln Without men’s hands were rung, And a’ the books o merry Lincoln Were read without man’s tongue, And neer was such a burial Sin Adam’s days begun.

SON DAVIE! SON DAVIE!

(Mackay.)

“WHAT bluid’s that on thy coat lap? Son Davie! Son Davie! What bluid’s that on thy coat lap? And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid of my great hawk, Mother lady, Mother lady! It is the bluid of my great hawk, And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”

“Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red, Son Davie! Son Davie! Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red, And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid of my grey hound, Mother lady! Mother lady! It is the bluid of my grey hound, And it wudna rin for me, O.”

“Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red, Son Davie! Son Davie! Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red, And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid o’ my brother John, Mother lady! Mother lady! It is the bluid o’ my brother John, And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”

“What about did the plea begin? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “It began about the cutting o’ a willow wand, That would never hae been a tree, O.”

“What death dost thou desire to die? Son Davie! Son Davie! What death dost thou desire to die? And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship, Mother lady! mother lady! I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship, And ye’ll never see mair o’ me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “Grief and sorrow all her life, And she’ll never get mair frae me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy young son? Son Davie! son Davie!” “The weary warld to wander up and down, And he’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “A fire o’ coals to burn her wi’ hearty cheer, And she’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”