42 'O down ye'll set this corpse o clay,
Lat me look on the dead;
For I may sigh, and say, alas!
For death has nae remeid.'
43 Then he has cut her winding sheet
A little below her chin,
And wi her sweet and ruby lips
She sweetly smil'd on him.
44 'Gie me a sheave o your white bread,
A bottle o your wine;
For I hae fasted for your sake
Fully these lang days nine.
45 'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,
Gae hame and blaw your trumpet;
And ye may tell to your step-dame
This day she is affronted.
46 'I camna here to fair Scotland
To lye amo the dead;
But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,
And lay gowd on my head.
47 'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,
Gae hame and blaw your horn;
And ye may tell in fair England
In Scotland ye got the scorn.
48 'I came not here to fair Scotland
To mix amang the clay;
But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,
And wear gowd to my tae.'
49 'Sin ye hae gien us this ae scorn,
We shall gie you anither;
Ye shall hae naething to live upon
But the bier that brought you hither.'
A.