It fell out ance upon a day,
Hynde Etin's to the hunting gane;
And he has tane wi' him his eldest son,
50 For to carry his game.
"O I wad ask you something, father,
An ye wadna angry be;"—
"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son,
Ask onie thing at me."
55 "My mother's cheeks are aft times weet,
Alas! they are seldom dry;"—
"Na wonder, na wonder, my eldest son,
Tho' she should brast and die.
"For your mother was an earl's dochter,
60 Of noble birth and fame;
And now she's wife o' Hynde Etin,
Wha ne'er got christendame.
"But we'll shoot the laverock in the lift,
The buntlin on the tree;
65 And ye'll tak them hame to your mother,
And see if she'll comforted be."
"I wad ask ye something, mother,
An' ye wadna angry be;"—
"Ask on, ask on, my eldest son,
70 Ask onie thing at me."
"Your cheeks they are aft times weet,
Alas! they're seldom dry;"—
"Na wonder, na wonder, my eldest son,
Tho' I should brast and die.
75 "For I was ance an earl's dochter,
Of noble birth and fame;
And now I am the wife of Hynde Etin,
Wha ne'er got christendame."