“Now let him up,” king Edward cried,
“And let him come to me;
And for the deed that thou hast done,
Thou shalt ha’e earldomes three!”
“It’s ne’er be said in France, nor e’er
In Scotland, when I’m hame,
That Edward once lay under me,
And e’er gat up again!”
He pierced him through and through the heart,
He maul’d him cruellie;
Then hung him o’er the draw-brig,
Beside the other three.
“Now take frae me that feather-bed,
Make me a bed of strae!
I wish I hadna lived this day,
To make my heart sae wae.
“If I were ance at London Tow’r,
Where I was wont to be,
I never mair shou’d gang frae hame,
Till borne on a bier-tree.”
THE BROOMFIELD HILL
There was a knight and lady bright
Set trysts amo the broom,
The one to come at morning eav,
The other at afternoon.
“I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” he said,
“An hundred marks and ten,
That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,
Return a maiden again.”
“I’ll wager a wager wi’ you,” she said,
“A hundred pounds and ten,
That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,
A maiden return again.”
The lady stands in her bower door,
And thus she made her mane:
“Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,
Or shall I stay at hame?