Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1835.pdf/19

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And at that little window Long Lonkin crept in.

Where's the lord of the hall? Says the Lonkin; He's gone up to London, Says Orange to him.

Where are the men of the hall? Says the Lonkin; They are at the field ploughing, Says Orange to him.

Where are the maids of the hall? Says the Lonkin; They are at the well, washing, Says Orange to him.

Where are the ladies of the hall? Says the Lonkin; They are up in their chambers, Says Orange to him.

How shall we get them down? Says the Lonkin; Prick the babe in the cradle, Says Orange to him.

Rock well my cradle, And be-ba my son; You shall have a new gown When the lord he comes home.

Still she did prick it, And be-ba she cried; Come down, dearest mistress, And still your own child.

Oh! still my child Orange, Still him with a bell; I can’t still him, ladie, Till you come down yoursell.

Hold the gold bason For your heart’s blood to run in;

To hold the gold bason, It grieves me full sore; Oh, kill me, dear Lonkin, And let my mother go.