Ye seldom see them dry;
Nae wonder, nae wonder, my bonnie boy,
Though she suld brast and die!
“For she was born a king’s daughter,
Of noble birth and fame,
And now she is Hynde Etin’s wife,
Wha ne’er got Christendome.
“But we’ll shoot the laverock in the lift,
The buntlin on the tree;
And ye’ll take theme hame to your mither,