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She's pitten her han' in her pocket, Gi'en the porter guineas three;
' Hae, tak ye that, ye proud porter, Bid the bride-groom speake to me.'
O whan that he cam up the stair, He fell low down on his knee:
He hail'd the king, and he hail'd the queen, And he hail'd him, Young Bekie.
' O I've been porter at your gates
This thirty years an' three; But there's three ladies at them now,
Their like I never did see.
'There's ane o' them dress'd in red scarlet,
An' twa in dainty green, An' they hae girdles about their middles
Wou'd buy an earldome.'
Then out it spake the bierly bride,
Was a' goud to the chin; ' Gin she be braw without,' she says,
' We's be as braw within.'
Then up it starts him, Young Bekie. And the tears was in his e'e:
' I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel,
Come o'er the sea to me.'