3 'What aileth thee at me, my lord,
What aileth thee at me,
When seven bonnie sons I have born,
All of your fair bodie?
4 'The eldest of your seven sons,
He can both read and write;
The second of your sons, my lord,
Can do it more perfyte.
5 'The third one of your sons, my lord,
He waters your milk-white steed;
The fourth one of your sons, my lord,
With red gold shines his weed.
6 'The fifth one of your sons, my lord,
He serves you when you dine;
The sixth one now you do behold,
How he walks out and in.
7 'The seventh one of your sons, my lord,
Sucks hard at my breast-bane;
When a' the house they are at rest,
For him I can get nane.
8 'And if you leave me thus forlorn,
A wainless wife I'll be,
For anybody's gold or gear
That is beyond the sea.'
9 'O wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or wha will brew my ale?
Or wha will cook my kitchen neat,
Or give my men their meal?'
10 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread,
To brew your ale I'm fain,
To cook your kitchen, as I have done,
Till you return again.'
11 'O wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or wha will brew my ale?
Or wha will welcome my braw bride,
That I bring owre the dale?'
12 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread,
For love I'll brew your ale,
And I will welcome your braw bride
That you bring owre the dale.'