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" Now come, now come, "Willie," she said, " Tak your young son frae me,
And hie him to your mother's bower, With speed and privacie."
And he is to his mother's bower,
As fast as he could rin ; " Open, open, my mother dear,
Open, and let me in ;
" For the rain rains on my yellow hair,
The dew stands on my chin, And I have something in my lap,
And I wad fain be in."
" 0 go, O go now, sweet Willie,
And make your lady blithe, For wherever you had ae nourice,
Your young son shall hae five."—
Out spak Annet's mother dear, An' she spak a word o' pride ;
Says, " Whare is a' our bride's maidens, They're no busking the bride ? "
" O haud your tongue, my mother dear,
Your speaking let it be, For I'm sae fair and full o' flesh,
Little busking will serve me."