6 'Where's the lord of the hall?'
says the Lonkin:
'He's gone up to London,'
says Orange to him.
7 'Where's the men of the hall?'
says the Lonkin:
'They're at the field ploughing,'
says Orange to him.
8 'Where's the maids of the hall?'
says the Lonkin:
'They're at the well washing,'
says Orange to him.
9 'Where's the ladies of the hall?'
says the Lonkin:
'They're up in their chambers,'
says Orange to him.
10 'How shall we get them down?'
says the Lonkin:
'Prick the babe in the cradle,'
says Orange to him.
11 'Rock well my cradle,
and bee-ba my son;
You shall have a new gown
when the lord he comes home.'
12 Still she did prick it,
and bee-ba she cried:
'Come down, dearest mistress,
and still your own child.'
13 'Oh still my child, Orange,
still him with a bell:'
'I can't still him, ladie,
till you come down yoursell.'
* * * * *
14 'Hold the gold basin,
for your heart's blood to run in,'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .