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' O lat them tak' frae me my head,
Or hang me on a tree ; For since I've lost my dear lady,
life 's no pleasure to me.'—
'Your head will na be touch'd, Etin,
Nor you hang'd on a tree ; Your lady 's in her father's court
And a' he wants is thee.'
When he cam' in before the King, Fell low down on his knee;
' Win up, win up now, Young Etin, This day ye'se dine wi' me.'
But as they were at dinner set The wee boy ask'd a boon :
i I wish we were in a good kirk For to get christendoun.
' For we hae lived in gude green wood
This seven years and ane; But a' this time since e'er I mind
Was never a kirk within.'—
' Your asking 's na sae great, my boy,
But granted it sail be ; This day to gude kirk ye sail gang And your mither sail gang you wi'.' 152