III
O they hae biggit a bigly[388] tow’r,
And strawn it o’er wi’ sand;
There was mair mirth i’ these ladies’ bow’r
Than in a’ their father’s land.
IV
But out and spake their step-mither,
At the stair-foot stood she:
‘I’m plaguit wi’ your troublesome noise!
What makes[389] your melodie?
V
‘O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud,
White Lilly, your voice is strang:
But gin I live and bruik[390] my life,
I’ll gar ye change your sang.’
VI
She’s call’d her son, Brown Robin,
‘Come hither, my son, to me;
It fears me sair, my eldest son,
That ye maun sail the sea.’—
VII
‘Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
Your bidding I maun dee;
But be never warse to Rose the Red
Than ye ha’ been to me.’—