8 'I laugh na at yoursel, brither,
Nor at your companie;
Nor laugh I at your buirlie bride,
She wad na laugh at me.
9 'But there's a brotch on a breast-bane,
A garlan on ane's hair;
Gin ye kend what war under that,
Ye wad neer love woman mair.
10 'There is a brotch on a breast-bane,
An roses on ane's sheen;
Gin ye kend what war under that,
Your love wad soon be deen.'
11 Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' man boun to bed,
Lord Ingram and Lady Masery
In ae chamer were laid.
12 He put his hand out oure his bonnie bride,
The babe between her sides did quake:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
13 'O father your babe on me, Lady Masery,
O father your babe on me.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
14 'I may father my babe on a stock,
Sae may I on a stane,
But my babe shall never hae
A father but its ain.'
15 He took out a brand,
And laid it atween them twa;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
16 Gill Viett took out a long brand,
And stroakd it oer a stro,
An thro and thro Lord Ingram's bodie
He made it come and go.
17 'Wae mat worth ye, Gill Viett,
An ill died mat ye die!
For I had the cup in my hand
To hae drunken her oer to thee.'