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sweet William's ghost. 147
" My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea, And it is but my spirit, Margaret, as
That's now speaking to thee."
She stretched out her lily-white hand,
And for to do her best; " Hae there your faith and troth, "Willy,
God send your soul good rest." *>
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below, her knee, And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed she.
" Is there any room at your head, Willy, a
Or any room at your feet ? Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep ? "
" There's no room at my head, Margaret, There's no room at my feet; so
There's no room at my side, Margaret, My coffin's made so meet."
Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray : " Tis time, tis time, my dear Margaret, js
That you were going away."