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' A question I will ask, father,
Gin ye wadna angry be.'— ' Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrel I'd by me.'
' I see my mither's cheeks aye weet,
I never can see them dry; And I wonder what aileth my mither
To mourn [sae constantly].'—
' Your mither was a king's daughter,
Sprung frae a high degree; She might hae wed some worthy prince Had she na been stown by me.
' Your mither was a king's daughter
Of noble birth and fame, But now she 's wife o' Hynd Etin,
Wha ne'er gat christendame.
' But we'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush,
The linnet o' the tree, And ye'se tak' them hame to your dear mither. See if she'll merrier be.'
It fell upon anither day,
He's to the hunting gane And left his seven [young] children
To stay wi' their mither at hame.