She’s ta’en her to the Jew’s garden,
Where the grass grew long and green;
She’s pu’d an apple red and white,
To wyle the bonny boy in.
When bells were rung and mass was sung,
And every bairn went home;
Then ilka lady had her young son,
But Lady Helen had none.
She row’d her mantle her about,
And sair, sair, ’gan to weep: