B.
Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From Widow McCormick, January 19, 1825.
1
There was two little boys going to the school,
And twa little boys they be,
They met three brothers playing at the ba,
And ladies dansing hey.
2
'It's whether will ye play at the ba, brither,
Or else throw at the stone?'
'I am too little, I am too young,
O brother let me alone.'
3
He pulled out a little penknife,
That was baith sharp and sma,
He gave his brother a deadly wound
That was deep, long and sair.
4
He took the holland sark off his back,
He tore it frae breast to gare,
He laid it to the bloody wound,
That still bled mair and mair.
5
'It's take me on your back, brother,' he says,
'And carry me to yon kirk-yard,
And make me there a very fine grave,
That will be long and large.
6
'Lay my bible at my head,' he says,
'My chaunter at my feet,
My bow and arrows by my side,
And soundly I will sleep.
7
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My father will ask for me;
You may tell him I am in Saussif town,
Learning my lesson free.
8
'When you go home, brother,' he says,
'My mother will ask for me;
You may tell her I am in Sausaf town,
And I'll come home merrily.