"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son? What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"

"O they swelled and they died; mother, make my bed soon; For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie doun."

"O I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son! OI fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young man!" "O yes! I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon; For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie doun." Unknown

EDWARD, EDWARD

"WHY does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
And why sae sad gang ye, O?"
“O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
Mither, mither;

OI hae killed my hawk sae gude,
And I had nae mair but he, O."

"Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
Edward, Edward;

Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
My dear son, I tell thee, O."
"O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
Mither, mither;

OI hae killed my red-roan steed,

That erst was sae fair and free, O."

"Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
Edward, Edward;

Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair;
Some other dule ye dree, O."

"O I hae killed my father dear,

Mither, mither;

OI hae killed my father dear,

Alas, and wae is me, O!"

"And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward?

Whatten penance will ye dree for that?

My dear son, now tell me, O."

"I'll set my feet in yonder bcat, Mither, mither;

I'll set my feet in yonder boat,

And I'll fare over the sea, O."

"And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha', Edward, Edward?

And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?"
"I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
Mither, mither;

I'll let them stand till they doun fa',

For here never mair maun I be, O."

"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang owre the sea, O?”

"The warld's room: let them beg through life,
Mither, mither;

The warld's room: let them beg through life;
For them never mair will I see, O."

"And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
My dear son, now tell me, O?”

"The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
Mither, mither;

The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!"

RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED

Unknown

THERE was a knicht riding frae the east,
Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree.

Who had been wooing at monie a place,

As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.

He cam' unto a widow's door,

And speird whare her three dochters were.

The auldest ane's to a washing gane, The second's to a baking gane.

"The youngest ane's to a wedding gane, And it will be nicht or she be hame."

He sat him doun upon a stane,

Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame.

The auldest ane she let him in,

And pinned the door wi' a siller pin.

The second ane she made his bed,

And laid saft pillows unto his head.

The youngest ane was bauld and bricht,

And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht.

"Gin ye will answer me questions ten,

The morn ye sall be made my ain.

"O what is higher nor the tree? And what is deeper nor the sea?

"Or what is heavier nor the lead? And what is better nor the breid?

"Or what is whiter nor the milk? Or what is safter nor the silk?

"Or what is sharper nor a thorn? Or what is louder nor a horn?

"Or what is greener nor the grass? Or what is waur nor a woman was?"

"O heaven is higher nor the tree, And hell is deeper nor the sea.

"O sin is heavier nor the lead,

The blessing's better nor the breid.

"The snaw is whiter nor the milk, And the down is safter nor the silk.

"Hunger is sharper nor a thorn, And shame is louder nor a horn.

"The pies are greener nor the grass, And Clootie's waur nor a woman was."

As sune as she the fiend did name,
Jennifer gentle an' rosemaree,

He flew awa in a blazing flame,

As the doo flies owre the mulberry tree.

SIR PATRICK SPENS

I. THE SAILING

THE King sits in Dunfermline toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"O whaur will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this gude ship of mine?"

Then up an' spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the King's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

The King has written a braid letter,
And sealed it wi' his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens

Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,

To Noroway o'er the faem; The King's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis thou maun tak' her hame!"

Unknown

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he;

The neist line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blindit his e'e.

"O wha is this hae dune this deed,
And tauld the King o' me,

To send us out, at this time o' year,
To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind or weet, be it hail or sleet,
Our ship maun sail the faem;
The King's daughter to Noroway,
'Tis we maun tak' her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monday morn

Wi' a' the speed they may;

And they hae landed in Noroway

Upon the Wodensday.

II. THE RETURN

"Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'!

Our gude ship sails the morn." "Now, ever alack! my master dear,

I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear,
That we sall come to harm!"

They hadna sailed a league, a league,

A league but barely three,

When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

The ropes they brak, and the topmast lap,

It was sic a deadly storm;

And the waves cam owre the broken ship

Till a' her sides were torn.