XI
She’s ta’en her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the hand,
And she’s gone out to seek her son,
And wander’d o’er the land.
XII
She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell
Where a’ were fast asleep;
Cries, ‘Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak!’
XIII
She near’d Our Lady’s deep draw-well,
And fell down on her knee:
‘Where’er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you speak to me!’—
XIV
‘O the lead is wondrous heavy, mother,
The well is wondrous deep;
The little penknife sticks in my throat,
And I downa[501] to ye speak.
XV
‘Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
Prepare my winding sheet,
And at the back o’ merry Lincoln
The morn I will you meet.’