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LAMBERT HNKIN. 103 |
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Belinkin he rocked,
And the fause nurse she sang, Till a' the tores o' the cradle
Wi' the red blude down ran.
" 0 still my babe, nurice, 0 still him wi' the knife."
" He'll no be still, lady, Tho' I lay down my life."
" 0 still my babe, nurice, 0 still him wi' the kame."
" He'll no be still, lady,
Till his daddy come hame."
" 0 still my babe, nurice, O still him wi' the bell."
" He'll no be still, lady,
Till ye come down yoursell."
" It's how can I come doun, This'cauld frosty nicht,
"Without e'er a coal
Or a clear candle licht ? " |
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43. Tores. The projections or knobs at the corners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamented balls commonÂly found surmounting the backs of old chairs. MotherÂwell, |
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