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Ah! wretched me! I little little ken'd

LADY ANN BOTHWELL'S LANENT.
He was in these to meet his ruin.

A SCOTTISH SONG.
The boy took out his milk-white milk-white steed,

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe !
Unheedful of my dule and sorrow,

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe;
But e'er the to-fall of the night

If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,
He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mithers joy,
Much I rejoic'd that waeful waeful day;

Thy father breides me great annoy.
I sang, my voice the woods returning,

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe! But lang e'er night the spear was flown

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe. That slew my love, and left me mourning.

When he began to court my luve, What can my barbarous barbarous father do,

And with his sugred words to muve, But with his cruel rage pursue me?

His faynings fals, and flattering cheire,
My luver’s blood is on thy spear,

To me that time did not appeire:
How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?

But now I see, most cruell hee

Cares neither for my babe nor mee. My liappy sisters may be may be proud;

Balow, &c. With cruel and ungentle scoffin,

Ly stil, my darlinge, sleipe a while, May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes

And when thou wakest sweitly smile: My luver nailed in his coffin.

But smile not, as thy father did,
My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,

To cozen maids; nay, God forbid !
And strive with threatening words to muve me,

But yette I feire, thou wilt gae neire, My luver's blood is on thy spear,

Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. How canst thou ever bid me luve thee?

Balow, &c.

I cannae chuse, but ever will
Yes yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love,

Be luving to thy father stil:
With bridal sheets my body cover,

Whair-eir he gae, whair-eir he ryde, Unbar ye bridal maids the door,

My love with him maun stil abyde:
Let in the expected husband lover.

In weil or wae, whair-eir he gae,

Mine hart can neir depart him frae. But who the expected husband husband is ?

Balow, &c. His hands methinks are bath'd in slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,

But doe not, doe not, prettie mine,

To faynings fals thine hart incline: Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after.

Be loyal to thy luver trew,

And nevir change hir for a new :
Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down,
O lay his cold head on my pillow ;

If gude or faire, of hir have care,
Take aff take aff these bridal weids,

For womens banning's wonderous sair. And crown my careful head with willow.

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, Pale tho' thou art, yet best yet best beluv'd,

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine ; O could my warmth to life restore thee!

My babe and I'll together live, Yet lie all night between my briests,

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve: No youth lay ever there before thee.

My babe and I right saft will ly,

And quite forget man's cruelty: Pale pale indeed, O lovely lovely youth,

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lye all night between my briests,

No youth shall ever lye there after.

Balow, &c.

Balow, &c.

4. Return return, O mournful mournful bride,

Return and dry thy useless sorrow. Thy luver heeds nought of thy sighs,

He lyes a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,
That ever kist a woman's mouth!
I wish all maids be warn'd by mee,
Nevir to trust man's curtesy;
For if we doe bot chance to bow,
They'lle use us than they care not how,

Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipel
It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.

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