Sit thee doun and dine wi me,
And Ill set thee on a chair of gold,
And a silver towel on thy knee.’
12
‘Whan cockle-shells turn silver bells,
And mussels they bud on a tree,
Whan frost and snaw turns fire to burn,
Then I’ll sit down and dine wi thee.’
13
O wae be unto thee, Blackwood,