Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair.
He put his foot into the boat,
He little thought o' ony ill:
But before that he was mid-waters,
The weary coble began to fill.
"Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun,
I wot an ill death may she die;
For she bored the coble in seven parts,
And let the waters perish me!
(strae, straw.)