Page:Old Scots song.pdf/3

 But, Oh my Mater dear! he cry'd.

in green wood ye’re your lane,

Gi’ o er uch thoughts. I wou'd you red,

for fear you hou’d be ta’en.

Hate, hate, I fay gae to the-ha',

bid her-come here wi' peed.

If ye refue my high command,

I'll gar your body bleed.

Gae bid her tak this gay mantle,

'tis a gowd but the hem;

Bid her come to the good green wood,

and bring nane but her lane:

And there it is a ilken fark,

her ain hand few’d the leeve,

And bid her come to Gill Morice,

peer nae bauld Baron's leave.

Yes, I will gae your black errand,

though it be to my coaft,

Sin ye by me will nae be warn'd,

in it ye hall find frot.

The Bacon he's a man of might,

he ne’er cou’d bide a taunt.

As ye will find before it’s night,

how ma’ ye hae to vaunt.

Now, fin I maun your errand rin,

ae fair againt my will,

I' e mak a vow and keep it true,

it hall be done for ill,