XIX
‘O gin my sons were seven rats,
Rinnin’ on the castle wa’,
And I mysell a great grey cat,
I soon wad worry them a’!
XX
‘O gin my sons were seven hares,
Rinnin’ owre yon lily lea,
And I mysell a good greyhound,
Soon worried they a’ should be!’
XXI
Then out and spak the bonny young Bride,
In bride-bed where she lay:
‘That’s like my sister Annie,’ she says;
‘Wha is it doth sing and play?
XXII
‘I’ll put on my gown,’ said the new-come Bride,
‘And my shoes upon my feet;
I will see wha doth sae sadly sing,
And what is it gars her greet.
XXIII
‘What ails you, what ails you, my housekeeper,
That ye mak sic a mane?
Has ony wine-barrel cast its girds,
Or is a’ your white bread gane?’—