Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
That goodly gift [shall] be her ain,
And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."—
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
Nor in her bower to shine the brighter;
For she shall die, and turn to clay,
And you shall wed another may."—
"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll ne'er bring hame:"—
But, sighing, said that weary wight—