‘Away, away,’ her brothers said,
‘For nae sick thing shall be.
‘Her een are sunk, her lips are cold,
Her rosy colour gane;
‘T is nine lang nights an nine lang days
Sin she deceasd at hame.’
‘Wer’t nine times nine an nine times nine,
My true-love’s face I’ll see;
Set down the bier, or here I swear
My prisners you shall be.’