8
‘O wae be to my father’s sheep-hird,
An ill death may he dee!
For bigging the bucht sae nar the road,
Let the Lochinvar to me!’
9
She’s tane her pig and her cog in her hand,
And she’s gane to milk the kye;
But ere she was aware, the Laird o Lochinvar
Cam riding in the way.