6 'Your sons are weel, an verra weel,
An learnin at the squeel;
But I fear ye winna see your sons
At the holy days o Yeel.'
7 Their father he went to Bloomsbury,
He turnit him roun about,
An there he saw his twa braw sons,
In the prison, leukin out.
8 'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons,
Or lie ye there for kye?
Or lie ye there for dear fond love,
Si closs as ye de lie?'
9 'We lie na here for owsen, father,
We lie na here for kye,
But we lie here for dear fond love,
An we're condemned to die.'
* * * * *
10 Then out bespak the clerks' fader,
An a sorry man was he:
'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers,
For a' this winna dee.'
11 Then out bespak the aul base mayr,
An an angry man was he:
'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores,
Ye'll see them hanged hie.'
* * * * *
C
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.