Page:Bold dragoon.pdf/8

 'Then, widow, let these guineas speak,

That powerfully plead clinken,

Aud if they fail, my mouth I’ll steek,

And nae mair love will think on.’

These court indeed, I maun confess,

I think they make you young sir,

An ten times belter can express

Affection than your tongue, sir.

I dream’d a dreary dream last night,

God keep us a’ frae sorrow,

I dream’d I pu’d the birk sae green,

Wi' my true love on Yarrow.

I'll read your dream my sister dear,

I'll tell you a’ your sorrow:

Ye pu’d the birk wi’ your true love,

He’s kill’d, he’s kill’d on Yarrow.

O gentle wind that bloweth south

To where my love repaireth,

Convey a kiss to his dear mouth,

And tell me how he faireth.

But o’er yon glen run arm’d men,

Have wrought me dool and sorrow,

They’ve slain, they’ve slain the comeliest swain

He bleeding lies on Yarrow.