Page:Tragical history of Gill Morice (4).pdf/7

Rh I once was as fu’ of Gill Morice, as hip is o the stane, I got thee in my father’s house wi muckle grief and shame.

And brought thee up in green wood, under the heavy rain. Oft have I by thy cradle sat, and soundly seen thee sleep, But now I’ll go about thy grave, the sa tsaut [sic] tears for to weep And first she kiss d his bloody cheek and syne his bloody chin;

Better I lo’e my Gill Morice, than a’ my kith and kin Away away ye ill woman an ill death may you die, Gin I had kenn’d he d been your son, he’d ne er been slain by me. Upbraid me not Lord Barnard, upbraid me not for shame.

Wi that same spear oh pierce my heart and put me out of pain; Since naething but Gill Morice’s head thy jealous rage could quell Let that same hand now take her life, that ne’er to thee did ill.