glas,
But my youngest son shall gae wi' me.'

12.
'What ails ye at your youngest son,
Sits smilin' at the nurse's knee?
I'm sure he never knew any harm,
Except it was from his nurse or thee.'

13.
... ... ...
... ... ...
And when I was into my coaches set,
He made his trumpets a' to soun.'

14.
I've heard it said, and it's oft times seen,
The hawk that flies far frae her nest;
And a' the world shall plainly see
It's Jamie Douglas that I love best.

15.
I've heard it said, and it's oft times seen,
The hawk that flies from tree to tree;
And a' the world shall plainly see
It's for Jamie Douglas I maun die.

[Annotations:
1.1: 'Waly' = alas!
1.4: 'wunt' = were wont.
3.4: 'lichtlie,' make light of.
6.3: 'baas,' balls.]

WALY, WALY, GIN LOVE BE BONNY

1.
O waly, waly up the bank!
And waly, waly, down the brae!
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae!

2.
I lean'd my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true-love did lightly me.

3.
O waly, waly! but love be bonny
A little time, while it is new;
But when it is auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like morning dew.

4.
O wherefore shoud I busk my head?
Or wherefore shoud I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
And says he'll never love me mair.

5.
Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me;
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,
Since my true-love has forsaken me.

6.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am weary.

7.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

8.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was cled in the black velvet,
And I mysell in cramasie.

9.
But had I wist, before I kiss'd,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pin'd it with a silver pin.

10.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane!
For a maid again I'll never be.

THE HEIR OF LINNE