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' I will gi' up this English blood,
Till my young babe be born; But the never a day nor hour langer, Tho' my life should be forlorn.'—
' O whare is a' my merry young men,
Whom I gi' meat and fee, To pu' the thistle and the thorn,
To burn this woman wi' ?'—
She turn'd her head on her left shoulder, Saw her girdle hang on a tree;
' O God bless them wha gave me that, They'll never give more to me.
' O whare will I get a bonny boy,
To help me in my need, To rin wi' haste to Lord William, And bid him come wi' speed ?'—
O out it spake a bonny boy, Stood by her brother's side :
' O I would run your errand, lady, O'er a' the world sae wide.
' Aft have I run your errands, lady, Whan blawn baith win' and weet;
But now I'll rin your errand, lady, Wi' saut tears on my cheek.'