Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed,
The sheets shall neir be fyl'd[383] by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me. 20
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum?
For of my life I am wearìe.
Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 25
Nor blawing snaws inclemencìe;
'Tis not sic cauld, that makes me cry,
But my loves heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgowe town,
We were a comely sight to see, 30
My love was cled in black velvet,
And I my-sell in cramasie.[384]
But had I wist, before I kisst,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 35
And pinnd it with a siller pin.
And, oh! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee,
And I my sell were dead and gane!
For a maid again Ise never be. 40
FOOTNOTES:
[382] [interjection of lamentation.]
[383] [defiled.]
[384] [crimson.]
XII.
THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.
