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It fell out ance upon a day,
Hynde Etin's to the hunting gane;
And he has tane wi' him his eldest son, For to carry his game. so
"01 wad ask you something, father,
An ye wadna angry be ;"— " Ask on, ask ou, my eldest son,
Ask onie thing at me."
" My mother's cheeks are aft times weet, 55
Alas! they are seldom dry;"— "Na wonder, na wonder, my eldest son,
Tho' she should brast and die.
" For your mother was an earl's dochter,
Of noble birth and fame; 60
And now she's wife o' Hynde Etin, Wha ne'er got christendame.
" But we'll shoot the laverock in the lift, The buntlin on the tree; And ye'll tak them hame to your mother, 65
And see if she'll comforted be." * # * *
" I wad ask ye something, mother,
An' ye wadna angry be ; "— " Ask on, ask on, my eldest son,
Ask onie thing at me." ro