21 And ay Lord Barnard blew and blew,
Till he was quite wearie;
Syne he threw down his bugle horn,
And up the stair ran he.
22 'How do you like my blankets, Sir?
How do you like my sheets?
How do ye like my gay ladie,
That lies in your arms asleep?'
23 'Oh weel I like your blankets, Sir,
And weel I like your sheet;
But wae be to your gay ladie,
That lyes in my arms asleep!'
24 'I'll gie you ae sword, Messgrove,
And I will take anither;
What fairer can I do, Messgrove,
Altho ye war my brither?'
25 The firsten wound that Messgrove gat,
It woundit him richt sair;
And the second wound that Messgrove gat,
A word he neer spak mair.
26 'Oh how do ye like his cheeks, ladie?
Or how do ye like his chin?
Or how do ye like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within?'
27 'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said,
'And weel I like his chin;
And weel I like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within.'
28 'Repeat these words, my fair ladie,
Repeat them ower agane,
And into a basin of pure silver
I'll gar your heart's bluid rin.'
29 'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said,
'And weel I like his chin;
And better I like his fair bodie
Than a' your kith and kin.'
30 Syne he took up his gude braid sword,
That was baith sharp and fine,
And into a basin of pure silver
Her heart's bluid he gart rin.