The Oxford Book of Ballads - online book

A Selection Of The Best English Lyric Ballads Chosen & Edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch

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LAMKIN
XIII
Then Lamkin 's tane a sharp knife,
That hung down by his gare, And he has gi'en the bonny babe
A deep wound and a sair.
XIV
Then Lamkin he rocked,
And the fause nourice sang, Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle
The red blood out sprang.
xv Then out it spak' the lady,
As she stood on the stair: i What ails my bairn, nourice,
That he 's greeting sae sair ?
xvi ' O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the pap ! '— ' He winna still, lady,
For this nor for that.'—
XVII
; O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the wand ! '— • He winna still, lady,
For a' his father's land,'—
XVII [
' O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the bell ! '— ' He winna still, lady,
Till ye come down yourselV—
gare] a seam of the skirt. bore] hole, crevice. greeting] wailing, crying.
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