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THE GAY GOSHAWK
xr ' Ha, there 's a letter frae your love,
He says he sent you three ; He canna wait your luve langer,
But for your sake he'll dee.
' He bids you write a letter to him ;
He says he's sent you five ; He canna wait your luve langer,
Tho' you're the fairest alive.'—
' Ye bid him bake his bridal-bread, And brew his bridal-ale,
An' I'll meet him in fair Scotland Lang, lang or it be stale.'
She 's doen her to her father dear Fa'n low down on her knee:
' A boon, a boon, my father dear I pray you, grant it me ! '—
xv ' Ask on, ask on, my daughter,
An' granted it sail be ; Except ae squire in fair Scotland,
An' him you sail never see.'—
' The only boon, my father dear, That I do crave of thee,
Is, gin I die in southin lands, In Scotland to bury me.