Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/465

 ANONYMOUS

C O haud your tongue, my douchter dear, For what needs a' this sorrow?

I'll wed you on a better lord Than him you lost on Yarrow.'

'O haud your tongue, my father dear,

An' dinna grieve your Sarah; A better lord was never born

Than him I lost on Yarrow.

c Tak hame your ousen, tak hame your kye, For they hae bred our sorrow,

I wiss that they had a' ganc mad Whan they cam first to Yarrow.'

Clerk Saunders

CLERK SAUNDERS and may Margaret Walk'd owrc yon garden green; And deep and heavy was the love That fell thir twa between.

'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said,

'A bed for you and me'' 'Fye na, fye na,' said may Margaret,

'Till anes we married be''

'Then I'll take the sword frae my scabbard

And slowly lift the pin; And you may swear, and save your aith,

Ye ne'er let Clerk Saunders in.

'Take you a napkin in your hand, And tie up baith your bonnie e'en,

And you may swear, and save your aith, Ye saw me na since late yestreen.'

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