VI
Up then spake an auld witch-wife,
Sat in the bower abune:
‘O ye may gang to the Broomfield Hill,
And yet come maiden hame,
VII
‘For when ye gang to the Broomfield Hill,
Ye’ll find your love asleep,
Wi’ a silver belt above his head,
And a broom-cow[210] at his feet.
VIII
‘Tak’ ye the bloom frae aff the broom,
Strew’t at his head an’ feet,
And aye the thicker that ye do strew,
The sounder he will sleep.
IX
‘Tak’ ye the rings aff your fingers,
Put them in his right hand,
To let him know when he does wake,
His love was at his command.’
X
Lord John has ta’en his milk-white steed
And his hawk wi’ his bells sae bright,
And he’s ridden swift to the Broomfield Hill,
[Was never a baulder] knight.