O
Gibb MS., p. 63.
1 Bonny were the feather beds
Cam sailin ower the faem,
But bonnier was the sixteen lords
Gaed out and neer cam hame.
2 Lang, lang may the nourice sit,
Wi the bonny babe on her knee,
Ere ever she see her good lord come,
To pay to her her fee.
3 An lang, lang will the lady sit,
Wi the gowd fan in her hand,
Ere ever she see her ain gude lord
Come skipping to dry land.
P
Kinloch MSS, I, 281.
1 Fu laith, fu laith was our braw Scots lords
To weet their coal black shoon;
But ere the battle a' was foucht,
Their hats war weet aboun.
2 Out and starts the mermaiden,
Wi a fan into her hand:
'Keep up your hearts, my merry men a',
For ye're near the dry land.'