I think you seem to be;’
‘No, I’m not the maid o the Cowden Knowes,
Nor ever hopes to be;
But I am one o her mother’s maids,
And oft in her companie.’
9
He’s taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by her grass-green sleeve,
He’s set her down upon the ground
Of her kin spierd nae leave.