8 'Mother, for your malison,
An mother, for your wis,
It's I will marry the nut-brown may,
. . . . . . .
9 . . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
It's up an spak his sister,
. . . . . . .
10 'The owsen may hang in the pleugh,
The kye drown in the myre,
An he'll hae naething but a dirty drab
To sit doun by the fire.'
* * * * *
11 'Where will I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoon,
That will rin on to Annie's bower,
An haste him back again?'
12 'It's I have run your errands, Willie,
An happy hae I been;
It's I will rin your errands, Willie,
Wi the saut tears in my een.'
13 'When ye come to Annie's bower,
She will be at her dine;
And bid her come to Willie's weddin,
On Monday in good time.
14 'Tell her neither to put on the dowie black,
Nor yet the mournfu brown,
But the gowd sae reed, and the silver white,
An her hair weel combed down.
15 'Tell her to get a tailor to her bower,
To shape for her a weed,
And a smith to her smithy,
To shoe for her a steed.
16 'To be shod wi silver clear afore,
An gold graithed behind,
An every foot the foal sets down,
The gold lie on the ground.'