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THE HTREMAN CHIEL.
That ye no other station have Than hold my father's plow."
" I love as weel to rise each morn As ye can your maries fair;
I love as weel to hold the plow As I were your father's heir.
" If ye love me, as ye protest,
And I trust weel ye do, The morn's night at eight o'clock,
In gude green wood meet me."
" Yes, I love you, my hireman chiel,
And that most tenderlie, But when my virgin honor's gone,
I soon will slighted be."
" Take ye no dread, my lady gay,
Lat a your folly be; If ye com a maiden to green wood,
You'll return the same for me."
The lady she went home again Wi a mary on every hand; She was so very sick in love, - She could not sit nor stand.
It was a dark and cloudy night, No stars beam'd o'er the lea,
When the lady and the hireman met Beneath a spreading tree.