25 She's called upon her maids by seven,
To mak his bed baith saft and even:
She's called upon her cooks by nine,
To make their dinner fair and fine.
When day was gane and night was come,
30 "What ails my love on me to frown?
"Or does the wind blow in your glove,
Or runs your mind on another love?"
"Nor blows the wind within my glove,
Nor runs my mind on another love;"
35 "But I not maid nor maiden am,
For I'm wi' bairn to another man."
"I thought I'd a maiden sae meek and sae mild,
But I've nought but a woman wi' child."
His mother's taen her up to a tower,
40 And lockit her in her secret bower:
"Now doughter mine, come tell to me,
Wha's bairn this is that you are wi'."