4
'O look not sae sweet, my bonie babe,
Gin ye smyle sae, ye'll smyle me dead.'
* * * * *
B.
a. Johnson's Museum, p. 331. b. Scott's Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 259, preface.
1
She sat down below a thorn,
Fine flowers in the valley
And there she has her sweet babe born.
And the green leaves they grow rarely
2
'Smile na sae sweet, my bonie babe,
And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead.'
3
She's taen out her little pen-knife,
And twinnd the sweet babe o its life.
4
She's howket a grave by the light o the moon,
And there she's buried her sweet babe in.
5
As she was going to the church,
She saw a sweet babe in the porch.
6
'O sweet babe, and thou were mine,
I wad cleed thee in the silk so fine.'