Page:Tragedy of Gill Morice.pdf/8

 Let that ame hand now take her life, that ne’er to thee did ill. To me nae after days nor nights will e’er be aft or kind I'll fill the air with heavy ighs, and greet till I am blind Enough of blood by me's been pilt, eek not your death frae me. I’d rather it had been myelf, than either him or thee. With wae o wae I hear your plaint, sair, sair I rue the deed, That e'er this cured hand of mine, did gar his body bleed. Dry up your tears my winome dame, you ne’er can heal the wound, You see his head upon my pear, his heart’s blood on the ground, I cure the hand that did the deed, the heart that thought the ill, The feet that bore me with ic peed, the comely youth to kill. I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, as gin he wore my ain, And I’ll ne’er forget the dreary day on which the youth was lain.