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O he's shot up, and he's shot down.
The linnet on the thorn, And sent it hame to his ladye,
Said he'd be hame the morn.
When he cam' till his lady's bow'r-door
He stood a little forbye, And there he heard a fu' fause knight
Tempting his gay ladye.
O he's ta'en out a gay gold ring Had cost him mony a poun';
' O grant me love for love, ladye, And this sail be your own.'—
x ' I lo'e Brown Adam well,' she says, ' I wot sae does he me ;
I wadna gie Brown Adam's love
For nae fause knight I see.'
Out he has ta'en a purse of gold
Was a' fu' to the string; ' O grant me love for love, ladye,
And a' this sail be thine.'—
' I lo'e Brown Adam well.' she says, An' I ken sae does he me;
An' I wadna be your light leman For mair nor ye could gie.'