"Omy head it pains me sair;"
"Then take, then take," the maiden said,
"And frae my sark you'll cut a gare."
Then she's gi'ed him a little bane-knife,
And frae her sark he cut a share;
She's tied it round his whey-white face,
But ay his head it ached mair.
Then louder cried the Clerk Colvill,
"O sairer, sairer aches my head;"
"And sairer, sairer ever will,"