XVI

‘The only boon, my father dear,
That I do crave of thee,
Is, gin I die in southin lands,
In Scotland to bury me.

XVII

‘An’ the firstin kirk that ye come till,
Ye gar the bells be rung,
An’ the nextin kirk that ye come till,
Ye gar the mass be sung.

XVIII

‘An’ the thirdin kirk that ye come till,
You deal gold for my sake,
An’ the fourthin kirk that ye come till,
You tarry there till night.’

XIX

She is doen her to her bigly[420] bow’r,
As fast as she could fare,
An’ she has tane a sleepy draught,
That she had mixt wi’ care.

XX

She’s laid her down upon her bed,
An’ soon she’s fa’n asleep,
And soon o’er every tender limb
Cauld death began to creep.