Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/348

 Why is your coat sae fouled the day? And I wot I hae but anither." "The steeds were stamping sair by the weary banks of clay, O dear mither."

"And where gat ye thae sleeves of red, My merry son, come tell me hither? And where gat ye thae sleeves of red? And I wot I hae but anither." "I have slain my ae brither by the weary water-head, O dear mither."

"And where will ye gang to mak your mend, My merry son, come tell me hither? And where will ye gang to mak your mend? And I wot I hae not anither." "The warldis way, to the warldis end, O dear mither."

"And what will ye leave your father dear, My merry son, come tell me hither? And what will ye leave your father dear? And I wot I hae not anither." "The wood to fell and the logs to bear, For he'll never see my body mair, O dear mither."