68A: Young Hunting

68A.1	O LADY, rock never your young son young
	One hour longer for me,
	For I have a sweetheart in Garlick’s Wells
	I love thrice better than thee.
68A.2	‘The very sols of my love’s feet
	Is whiter then thy face:’
	‘But nevertheless na, Young Hunting,
	Ye’l stay wi me all night.’
68A.3	She has birld in him Young Hunting
	The good ale and the beer,
	Till he was as fou drunken
	As any wild-wood steer.
68A.4	She has birld in him Young Hunting
	The good ale and the wine,
	Till he was as fou drunken
	As any wild-wood swine.
68A.5	Up she has tain him Young Hunting,
	And she has had him to her bed,
	. . . . .
	. . . . .
68A.6	And she has minded her on a little penknife,
	That hangs low down by her gare,
	And she has gin him Young Hunting
	A deep wound and a sare.
68A.7	Out an spake the bonny bird,
	That flew abon her head:
	‘Lady, keep well thy green clothing
	Fra that good lord’s blood.’
68A.8	‘O better I’ll keep my green clothing
	Fra that good lord’s blood
	Nor thou can keep thy flattering toung,
	That flatters in thy head.
68A.9	‘Light down, light down, my bonny bird,
	Light down upon my hand,
	. . . . . .
	. . . . .
68A.10	‘O siller, O siller shall be thy hire,
	An goud shall be thy fee,
	An every month into the year,
	Thy cage shall changed be.’
68A.11	‘I winna light down, I shanna light down,
	I winna light on thy hand;
	For soon, soon wad ye do to me
	As ye done to Young Hunting.’
68A.12	She has booted an spird him Young Hunting
	As he had been gan to ride,
	A hunting-horn about his neck,
	An the sharp sourd by his side.
68A.13	And she has had him to yon wan water,
	For a’ man calls it Clyde,
	. . . . .
	. . . . .
68A.14	The deepest pot intill it all
	She has puten Young Hunting in;
	A green truff upon his breast,
	To hold that good lord down.
68A.15	It fell once upon a day
	The king was going to ride,
	And he sent for him Young Hunting,
	To ride on his right side.
68A.16	She has turnd her right and round about,
	She sware now by the corn,
	‘I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,
	Sen yesterday at morn.’
68A.17	She has turnd her right and round about,
	She swear now by the moon,
	‘I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,
	Sen yesterday at noon.
68A.18	‘It fears me sair in Clyde Water
	That he is drownd therein:’
	O thay ha sent for the king’s duckers,
	To duck for Young Hunting.
68A.19	They ducked in at the tae water-bank,
	Thay ducked out at the tither:
	‘We’ll duck no more for Young Hunting,
	All tho he wear our brother.’
68A.20	Out an spake the bonny bird,
	That flew abon their heads,
	. . . . .
	. . . . .
68A.21	‘O he’s na drownd in Clyde Water,
	He is slain and put therein;
	The lady that lives in yon castil
	Slew him and put him in.
68A.22	‘Leave aff your ducking on the day,
	And duck upon the night;
	Whear ever that sakeless knight lys slain,
	The candels will shine bright.’
68A.23	Thay left off their ducking o the day,
	And ducked upon the night,
	And where that sakeless knight lay slain,
	The candles shone full bright.
68A.24	The deepest pot intill it a’
	Thay got Young Hunting in;
	A green turff upon his brest,
	To hold that good lord down.
68A.25	O thay ha sent aff men to the wood
	To hew down baith thorn an fern,
	That they might get a great bonefire
	To burn that lady in.
	‘Put na the wyte on me,’ she says,
	‘It was her May Catheren.’
68A.26	Whan thay had tane her May Catheren,
	In the bonefire set her in;
	It wad na take upon her cheeks,
	Nor take upon her chin,
	Nor yet upon her yallow hair,
	To healle the deadly sin.
68A.27	Out they hae tain her May Catheren,
	And they hay put that lady in;
	O it took upon her cheek, her cheek,
	An it took upon her chin,
	An it took on her fair body,
	She burnt like hoky-gren.

68B: Young Hunting

68B.1	YOUNG REDINRR’rrS til the huntin gane,
	Wi therty lords and three;
	And he has til his true-love gane,
	As fast as he could hie.
68B.2	‘Ye’re welcome here, my Young Redin,
	For coal and candle-licht;
	And sae are ye, my Young Redin,
	To bide wi me the nicht.’
68B.3	‘I thank ye for your licht, ladie,
	Sae do I for your coal;
	But there’s thrice as fair a ladie as thee
	Meets me at Brandie’s Well.’
68B.4	Whan they war at their supper set,
	And merrily drinking wine,
	This ladie has tane a sair sickness,
	And til her bed has gane.
68B.5	Young Redin he has followed her,
	And a dowie man was he;
	He fund his true-love in her bouer,
	And the tear was in her ee.
68B.6	Whan he was in her arms laid,
	And gieing her kisses sweet,
	Then out she’s tane a little penknife,
	And woundid him sae deep.
68B.7	‘O lang, lang is the winter nicht,
	And slawly daws the day;
	There is a slain knicht in my bouer,
	And I wish he war away.’
68B.8	Then up bespak her bouer-woman,
	And she spak ae wi spite:
	‘An there be a slain knicht in your bouer,
	It’s yoursell that has the wyte.’
68B.9	‘O heal this deed on me, Meggy,
	O heal this deed on me;
	The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche,
	They sall be sewed for thee.’
68B.10	‘O I hae heald on my mistress
	A twalmonth and a day,
	And I hae heald on my mistress
	Mair than I can say.’
	* * * * *
68B.11	They’ve booted him, and they’ve spurred him,
	As he was wont to ride,
	A huntin-horn round his neck,
	And a sharp sword by his side;
	In the deepest place o Clyde’s Water,
	It’s there they’ve made his bed.
68B.12	Sine up bespak the wylie parrot,
	As he sat on the tree:
	‘And hae ye killd him Young Redin,
	Wha neer had love but thee?’
68B.13	‘Come doun, come doun, ye wylie parrot,
	Come doun into my hand;
	Your cage sall be o the beaten gowd,
	Whan now it’s but the wand.’
68B.14	‘I winna come doun, I canna come doun,
	I winna come doun to thee;
	For as ye’ve dune to Young Redin,
	Ye’ll do the like to me;
	Ye’ll thraw my head aff my hause-bane,
	And throw me in the sea.’
68B.15	O there cam seekin Young Redin
	Mony a lord and knicht,
	And there cam seekin Young Redin
	Mony a ladie bricht.
68B.16	And they’ve til his true-love gane,
	Thinking he was wi her;
	. . . . . .
	. . . . .
68B.17	‘I hae na seen him Young Redin
	Sin yesterday at noon;
	He turnd his stately steed about,
	And hied him throw the toun.
68B.18	‘But ye’ll seek Clyde’s Water up and doun,
	Ye’ll seek it out and in;
	I hae na seen him Young Redin
	Sin yesterday at noon.’
68B.19	Then up bespak Young Redin’s mither,
	And a dowie woman was scho:
	‘There’s na a place in Clyde’s Water
	But my son wad gae throw.’
68B.20	They’ve sought Clyde’s Water up and doun,
	They’ve sought it out and in,
	And the deepest place in Clyde’s Water
	They’ve fund Young Redin in.
68B.21	O white, white war his wounds washen,
	As white as a linen clout;
	But as the traitor she cam near,
	His wounds they gushit out.
68B.22	‘It’s surely been my bouer-woman,
	O ill may her betide!
	I neer wad slain him Young Redin,
	And thrown him in the Clyde.’
68B.23	Then they’ve made a big bane-fire,
	The bouer-woman to brin;
	It tuke not on her cheek, her cheek,
	It tuke not on her chin,
	But it tuke on the cruel hands
	That pat Young Redin in.
68B.24	Then They’ve tane out the bouer-woman,
	And pat the ladie in;
	It tuke na on her cheek, her cheek,
	It tuke na on her chin,
	But it tuke on the fause, fause arms
	That Young Redin lay in.

68C: Young Hunting

68C.1	The ladie stude in her bour-door,
	In her bour-door as she stude,
	She thocht she heard a bridle ring,
	That did her bodie gude.
68C.2	She thocht it had been her father dear,
	Come ridin owre the sand;
	But it was her true-love Riedan,
	Come hiean to her hand.
68C.3	‘You’re welcome, you’re welcome, Young Riedan,’ she said,
	‘To coal an cannel-licht;
	You’re welcome, you’re welcome, Young Riedan,
	To sleep in my bour this nicht.’
68C.4	‘I thank you for your coal, madame,
	An for your cannel tae;
	There’s a fairer maid at Clyde’s Water,
	I love better than you.’
68C.5	‘A fairer maid than me, Riedan?
	A fairer maid than me?
	A fairer maid than ten o me
	You shurely neer did see.’
68C.6	He leant him owre his saddle-bow,
	To gie her a kiss sae sweet;
	She keppit him on a little penknife,
	An gae him a wound sae deep.
68C.7	‘O hide! oh hide! my bourswoman,
	Oh hide this deed on me!
	An the silks that waur shappit for me at Yule
	At Pasch sall be sewed for thee.’
68C.8	They saidled Young Riedan, they bridled Young Riedan,
	The way he was wont to ride;
	Wi a huntin-horn aboot his neck,
	An a sharp sword by his side.
68C.9	An they are on to Clyde’s Water,
	An they rade it up an doon,
	An the deepest linn in a’ Clyde’s Water
	They flang him Young Riedan [in].
68C.10	‘Lie you there, you Young Riedan,
	Your bed it is fu wan;
	The [maid] you hae at Clyde’s Water,
	For you she will think lang.’
68C.11	Up it spak the wily bird,
	As it sat on the tree:
	‘Oh wae betide you, ill woman,
	An an ill death may you dee!
	For he had neer anither love,
	Anither love but thee.’
68C.12	‘Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,
	An pickle wheat aff my glue;
	An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
	Whan it’s of the willow tree.’
68C.13	‘I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,
	To siccan a traitor as thee:
	For as you did to Young Riedan,
	Sae wald you do to mee.’
68C.14	Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,
	An pickle wheat aff my hand;
	An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
	Whan it’s o the willow wand.’
68C.15	‘I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,
	To siccan a traitor as thee;
	You wald thraw my head aff my hase-bane,
	An fling it in the sea.’
68C.16	It fell upon a Lammas-tide
	The king’s court cam ridin bye:
	‘Oh whare is it him Young Riedan?
	It’s fain I wald him see.’
68C.17	‘Oh I hae no seen Young Riedan
	Sin three lang weeks the morn;
	It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair,
	Clyde’s Water’s him forlorn.’
68C.18	Up it spak the wily bird,
	As it sat on the tree;
	. . . . .
	. . . . .
68C.19	‘Leave aff, leave aff your day-seekin,
	An ye maun seek by nicht;
	Aboon the place Young Riedan lies,
	The cannels burn bricht.’
68C.20	They gae up their day-seekin,
	An they did seek by nicht;
	An ower the place Young Riedan lay,
	The cannels burnt bricht.
68C.21	The firsten grip his mother got
	Was o his yellow hair;
	An was na that a dowie grip,
	To get her ae son there!
68C.22	The nexten grip his mother got
	Was o his milk-white hand;
	An wasna that a dowie grip,
	To bring sae far to land!
68C.23	White, white waur his wounds washen,
	As white as ony lawn;
	But sune’s the traitor stude afore,
	Then oot the red blude sprang.
	* * * * *
68C.24	Fire wadna tak on her bourswoman,
	Niether on cheek nor chin;
	But it took fast on thae twa hands
	That flang young Riedan in.
68C.25	‘Come oot, come oot, my bourswoman,
	Come oot, lat me win in;
	For as I did the deed mysell,
	Sae man I drie the pine.’

68D: Young Hunting

68D.1	EARL RICHARD has a hunting gone,
	As fast as he can ride;
	He’s a hunting-horn about his neck,
	And a broadsword by his side.
68D.2	‘Licht down, licht down, Earl Richard,’ she says,
	‘O licht down and come in,
	And thou’ll get cheer and charcoal clear,
	And torches for to burn.’
68D.3	‘I winna licht, I canna licht,
	I winna licht at all;
	A fairer lady then ten of thee
	Meets me at Richard’s Wall.’
68D.4	He louted owre his saddle-bow,
	And for to kiss her sweet,
	But little thocht o that penknife
	Wherewith she wound him deep.
68D.5	‘Why wounds thou me so deep, lady?
	Why stabs thou me so sore?
	There’s not a lord like Earl Richard
	Could love false woman more.’
68D.6	She called upon her waiting-maid,
	Long before it was day:
	‘I have a dead man in my bower,
	I wish he were away.’
68D.7	‘Keep ye your bower, my lily-flower,
	Keep it free of all men’s blood;’
	‘Oh I will keep it een as weel
	As you or any maid.
68D.8	‘But siller will be thy wage,’ she says,
	‘And gold will be thy fee,
	And I mysell will gang alang
	And bear thee companye.’
68D.9	They booted him, and spurred him,
	As he was wont to ride,
	And they’re awa to Lorn’s Water,
	To Lorn’s Water so wide.
68D.10	They turned down his yellow hair,
	Turnd up his milk-white feet:
	‘Lye thou there, Earl Richard,’ she said,
	‘Till the blood seep from thy bane;
	That fairer maid than ten of me
	Will look lang or thou come hame.’
68D.11	As they were coming hame again,
	Upon the road so hie,
	There they spy’d a small pyet,
	Was sitting on a tree.
68D.12	‘Where has thou been, fair lady?’ it says,
	‘Whare has thou been so soon?
	Or what did thou wi Earl Richard,
	Was late wi thee yestreen?’
68D.13	‘Come down, come down, my wee pyet;
	An thou’ll come to my knee,
	I have a cage of beaten gold,
	And I’ll bestow ’t on thee.’
68D.14	‘Keep thou thy cage of beaten gold,
	And I will keep my tree;
	For as thou did wi Earl Richard,
	So wad thou do wi me;
	Thou wad thraw the wee head aff my bouk,
	And drown me in the sea.’
68D.15	‘Come down, come down, my wee pyet;
	An thou’ll come to my hand,
	I have a cage of beaten gold,
	And thou’s be put therein.’
68D.16	‘Keep thou thy cage o beaten gold,
	And I will keep my tree;
	For as thou did wi Earl Richard,
	So would thou do wi me.’
68D.17	‘Oh an I had my bow bendit,
	And set unto my knee,
	I wad shoot this wee pyet
	Sits gabbling on the tree.’
68D.18	‘Before thou get thy bow bendit,
	And set unto thy knee,
	I’ll be at Earl Richard’s father,
	Telling ill tales on thee.’
68D.19	As they were coming hame again,
	Upon the road so bricht,
	There they saw Earl Richard’s father,
	Coming marching in their sicht.
68D.20	‘Whare has thou been, fair lady?’ he says,
	‘Whare has thou been back sae sune?
	O what did thou wi my auld son,
	Was late wi thee yestreen?’
68D.21	She did swear by stars o licht,
	And grass-green growing corn,
	That she had not seen Earl Richard’s face
	Since Saturday at morn;
	‘But in Lorn’s Water, indeed,’ she says,
	‘I fear his days are done.’
68D.22	‘There was not a ford in Lorn’s Water
	But he could ride it weel;
	And what did thou wi my auld son,
	That went with thee afield?’
	* * * * *

68E: Young Hunting

68E.1	LORD WILLIAM was the bravest knight
	That dwalt in fair Scotland,
	And, though renowned in France and Spain,
	Fell by a ladie’s hand.
68E.2	As she was walking maid alone,
	Down by yon shady wood,
	She heard a smit o bridle reins,
	She wishd might be for good.
68E.3	‘Come to my arms, my dear Willie,
	You’re welcome hame to me;
	To best o chear and charcoal red,
	And candle burnin free.’
68E.4	‘I winna light, I darena light,
	Nor come to your arms at a’;
	A fairer maid than ten o you
	I’ll meet at Castle-law.’
68E.5	‘A fairer maid than me, Willie?
	A fairer maid than me?
	A fairer maid than ten o me
	Your eyes did never see.’
68E.6	He louted owr his saddle-lap
	To kiss here ere they part,
	And wi a little keen bodkin,
	She pierced him to the heart.
68E.7	‘Ride on, ride on, Lord William now,
	As fast as ye can dree;
	Your bonny lass at Castle-law
	Will weary you to see.’
68E.8	Out up then spake a bonny bird,
	Sat high upon a tree:
	‘How could you kill that noble lord?
	He came to marry thee.’
68E.9	‘Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
	And eat bread aff my hand;
	Your cage shall be of wiry goud,
	Whar now it’s but the wand.’
68E.10	‘Keep ye your cage o goud, lady,
	And I will keep my tree;
	As ye hae done to Lord William,
	Sae wad ye do to me.’
68E.11	She set her foot on her door-step,
	A bonny marble stane,
	And carried him to her chamber,
	Oer him to make her mane.
68E.12	And she has kept that good lord’s corpse
	Three quarters of a year,
	Until that word began to spread;
	Then she began to fear.
68E.13	Then she cryed on her waiting-maid,
	Ay ready at her ca:
	‘There is a knight into my bower,
	’Tis time he were awa.’
68E.14	The ane has taen him by the head,
	The ither by the feet,
	And thrown him in the wan water,
	That ran baith wide and deep.
68E.15	‘Look back, look back, now, lady fair,
	On him that loed ye weel;
	A better man than that blue corpse
	Neer drew a sword of steel.’

68F: Young Hunting

68F.1	EARL RICHARD is a hunting gone,
	As fast as he can ride,
	His hunting-horn hung about his neck,
	And a small sword by his side.
68F.2	When he came to my lady’s gate
	He tirled at the pin,
	And wha was sae ready as the lady hersell
	To open and let him in.
68F.3	‘O light, O light, Earl Richard,’ she says,
	‘O light and stay a’ night;
	You shall have cheer wi charcoal clear,
	And candles burning bright.’
68F.4	‘I will not light, I cannot light,
	I cannot light at all;
	A fairer lady than ten of thee
	Is waiting at Richard’s Wall.’
68F.5	He stooped from his milk-white steed,
	To kiss her rosy cheek;
	She had a pen-knife in her hand,
	And wounded him so deep.
68F.6	‘O lie ye there, Earl Richard,’ she says,
	‘O lie ye there till morn;
	A fairer lady than ten of me
	Will think lang of your coming home.’
68F.7	She called her servants ane by ane,
	She called them twa by twa:
	‘I have got a dead man in my bower,
	I wish he were awa.’
68F.8	The one has taen [him] by the hand,
	And the other by the feet,
	And they’ve thrown him in a deep draw-well,
	Full fifty fathom deep.
68F.9	Then up bespake a little bird,
	That sat upon a tree:
	‘Gae hame, gae hame, ye false lady,
	And pay your maids their fee.’
68F.10	‘Come down, come down, my pretty bird,
	That sits upon the tree;
	I have a cage of beaten gold,
	I’ll gie it unto thee.’
68F.11	‘Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,
	And pay your maids their fee;
	As ye have done to Earl Richard,
	Sae wud ye do to me.’
68F.12	‘If I had an arrow in my hand,
	And a bow bent on a string,
	I’d shoot a dart at thy proud heart,
	Amang the leaves sae green.’

68G: Young Hunting

68G.1	SHE has calld to her her bower-maidens,
	She has calld them one by one:
	‘There is a dead man in my bower,
	I wish that he was gone.’
68G.2	They have booted him, and spurred him,
	As he was wont to ride,
	A hunting-horn around his waist,
	A sharp sword by his side.
68G.3	Then up and spake a bonie bird,
	That sat upon the tree:
	‘What hae ye done wi Earl Richard?
	Ye was his gay lady.’
68G.4	‘Cum down, cum down, my bonie bird,
	Cum sit upon my hand;
	And ye sall hae a cage o the gowd,
	Where ye hae but the wand.’
68G.5	‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
	Nae ill woman for me;
	What ye hae done to Earl Richard,
	Sae wad ye do to mee.’
	* * * * *
68G.6	‘O there’s a bird intill your bowir
	That sings sae sad and sweet;
	O there’s a bird intill your bour
	Kept me frae my nicht’s sleep.’
	* * * * *
68G.7	And she sware by the grass sae greene,
	Sae did she by the corn,
	That she had not seen Earl Richard
	Sen yesterday at morn.
	* * * * *

68H: Young Hunting

68H.1	* * * *
	‘HAIL well, hail well, my little foot-page,
	Hail well this deed on me,
	And ever I live my life to brook,
	I’se pay thee well thy fee.’
68H.2	‘It’s we’l beet him, and we’l spur him,
	As gin he had been gain to ride,
	Put a huntin-horn about his neck,
	And a small sword by his side.
68H.3	‘And we’ll carry him to Clyde’s Water,
	And there we’ll fling him in,
	That we may have it to be said
	In Clyde’s Water he drownd.’
68H.4	O they bet him, and they spurrd him,
	As gin he had been gain to ride,
	Pat a huntin-horn about his neck,
	But the sword on his wrang side.
68H.5	And they hae carried him to Clyde’s Water,
	And there they flang him in,
	That they might have it to be said
	In Clyde’s Water he drowned.
	* * * * *
68H.6	‘It’s we’ll sen for the king’s doukers,
	And douk it up and doun;
	It’s we’ll sen for the king’s doukers,
	And douk it out and in.’
68H.7	Out it spak a little wee birdie,
	As it sat on yon burn-brae:
	. . . . .
	. . . . .
68H.8	‘Ye may lay by your day doukers,
	And turn you to the night,
	And where the innocent blood lies slain,
	The candles will burn fou bricht.’
68H.9	O they hae brunt that gay ladie,
	And blawn her in the air,
	And nothing o that bower-man would burn
	But the hands that buskd him rare.

68I: Young Hunting

68I.1	* * * *
	‘Come down, come down, thou bonnie bird,
	Sit low upon my hand,
	And thy cage shall be o the beaten gowd,
	And not of hazel wand.’
68I.2	‘O woe, O woe be to thee, lady,
	And an ill death may thou die!
	For the way thou guided good Lord John,
	Soon, soon would thou guide me.’
68I.3	‘Go bend to me my bow,’ she said,
	‘And set it to my ee,
	And I will gar that bonnie bird
	Come quickly down to me.’
68I.4	‘Before thou bend thy bow, lady,
	And set it to thy ee,
	O I will be at yon far forest,
	Telling ill tales on thee.’
	* * * * *

68J: Young Hunting

68J.1	‘O lady, rock never your young son young
	One hour langer for me;
	For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells
	I love far better than thee.
68J.2	‘The very sole o that ladye’s foot
	Than thy face is far mair white:’
	‘But, nevertheless, now, Erl Richard,
	Ye will bide in my bower a’ night?’
68J.3	She birled him wi the ale and wine,
	As they sat down to sup:
	A living man he laid him down,
	But I wot he neer rose up.
68J.4	Then up and spake the popinjay,
	That flew aboun her head:
	‘Lady, keep weel your green cleiding
	Frae gude Erl Richard’s bleid.’
68J.5	‘O better I’ll keep my green cleiding
	Frae gude Erl Richard’s bleid,
	Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung,
	That trattles in thy head.’
68J.6	She has calld upon her bower-maidens,
	She has calld them ane by ane:
	‘There lies a deid man in my bowr,
	I wish that he were gane.’
68J.7	They hae booted him, and spurred him,
	As he was wont to ride,
	A hunting-horn tied round his waist,
	A sharp sword by his side;
	And they hae had him to the wan water,
	For a’ men call it Clyde.
68J.8	Then up and spake the popinjay,
	That sat upon the tree:
	‘What hae ye down wi Erl Richard?
	Ye were his gaye ladye.’
68J.9	‘Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
	And sit upon my hand;
	And thou sall hae a cage o gowd,
	Where thou hast but the wand.’
68J.10	‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
	Nae cage o gowd for me;
	As ye hae dune to Erl Richard,
	Sae wad ye do to me.’
68J.11	She hadna crossd a rigg o land,
	A rigg but barely ane,
	When she met wi his auld father,
	Came riding all alane.
68J.12	‘Where hae ye been, now, ladye fair,
	Where hae ye been sae late?
	We hae been seeking Erl Richard,
	But him we canna get.’
68J.13	‘Erl Richard kens a’ the fords in Clyde,
	He’ll ride them ane by ane;
	And though the night was neer sae mirk,
	Erl Richard will be hame.’
68J.14	O it fell anes upon a day
	The king was boun to ride,
	And he has mist him Erl Richard,
	Should hae ridden on his right side.
68J.15	The ladye turnd her round about,
	Wi mickle mournfu din:
	‘It fears me sair o Clyde water,
	That he is drownd therein.’
68J.16	‘Gar douk, gar douk,’ the king he cried,
	‘Gar douk for gold and fee;
	O wha will douk for Erl Richard’s sake,
	Or wha will douk for me?’
68J.17	They douked in at ae weil-heid,
	And out aye at the other:
	‘We can douk nae mair for Erl Richard,
	Altho he were our brother.’
68J.18	It fell that in that ladye’s castle
	The king was boun to bed,
	And up and spake the popinjay,
	That flew abune his head.
68J.19	‘Leave aff your douking on the day,
	And douk upon the night;
	And wherever that sackless knight lies slain,
	The candles will burn bright.’
68J.20	‘O there’s a bird within this bower,
	That sings baith sad and sweet;
	O there’s a bird within your bower
	Keeps me frae my night’s sleep.’
68J.21	They left the douking on the day,
	And douked upon the night,
	And where that sackless knight lay slain,
	The candles burned bright.
68J.22	The deepest pot in a’ the linn
	They fand Erl Richard in;
	A green turf tyed across his breast,
	To keep that gude lord down.
68J.23	Then up and spake the king himsell,
	When he saw the deadly wound,
	‘O wha has slain my right-hand man,
	That held my hawk and hound?’
68J.24	Then up and spake the popinjay,
	Says, What needs a’ this din?
	It was his light lemman took his life,
	And hided him in the linn.
68J.25	She swore her by the grass sae grene,
	Sae did she by the corn,
	She had na seen him Erl Richard
	Since Moninday at morn.
68J.26	‘Put na the wyte on me,’ she said,
	‘It was my may, Catherine:’
	Then they hae cut baith fern and thorn,
	To burn that maiden in.
68J.27	It wadna take upon her cheik,
	Nor yet upon her chin,
	Nor yet upon her yellow hair,
	To cleanse the deadly sin.
68J.28	The maiden touchd the clay-cauld corpse,
	A drap it never bled;
	The ladye laid her hand on him,
	And soon the ground was red.
68J.29	Out they hae ta’en her May Catherine,
	And put her mistress in;
	The flame tuik fast upon her cheik,
	Tuik fast upon her chin,
	Tuik fast upon her fair bodye,
	She burnd like hollins grene.

68K: Young Hunting

68K.1	LADY MAISRY forth from her bower came,
	And stood on her tower-head;
	She thought she heard a bridle ring,
	The sound did her heart guid.
68K.2	She thought it was her first true-love,
	Whom she loved ance in time;
	But it was her new love, Hunting,
	Come frae the hunting o the hyn.
68K.3	‘Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,
	God make you safe and free;
	I’m come to take my last farewell,
	And pay my last visit to thee.’
68K.4	‘O stay, O stay then, Young Hunting,
	O stay with me this night;
	Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear,
	And candles burning bright.’
68K.5	‘Have no more cheer, you lady fair,
	An hour langer for me;
	I have a lady in Garmouth town
	I love better than thee.’
68K.6	‘O if your love be changed, my love,
	Since better canno be,
	Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,
	Ye’ll stay this night wi me.
68K.7	‘Silver, silver shall be your wage,
	And gowd shall be your fee,
	And nine times nine into the year
	Your weed shall changed be.
68K.8	‘Will ye gae to the cards or dice,
	Or to a tavern fine?
	Or will ye gae to a table forebye,
	And birl baith beer and wine?’
68K.9	‘I winna gang to the cards nor dice,
	Nor to a tavern fine;
	But I will gang to a table forebye,
	And birl baith beer and wine.’
68K.10	Then she has drawn for Young Hunting
	The beer but and the wine,
	Till she got him as deadly drunk
	As ony unhallowed swine.
68K.11	Then she’s taen out a trusty brand,
	That hang below her gare,
	Then she’s wounded him Young Hunting,
	A deep wound and a sair.
68K.12	Then out it speaks her comrade,
	Being in the companie:
	‘Alas! this deed that ye hae done
	Will ruin baith you and me.’
68K.13	‘Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine,
	Heal well this deed on me,
	The robes that were shapen for my bodie,
	They shall be sewed for thee.’
68K.14	‘Tho I woud heal it never sae well,
	And never sae well,’ said she,
	‘There is a God above us baith
	That can baith hear and see.’
68K.15	They booted him, and spurred him,
	As he’d been gaun to ride,
	A hunting-horn about his neck,
	A sharp sword by his side.
68K.16	And they rode on, and farther on,
	All the lang summer’s tide,
	Until they came to wan water,
	Where a’ man ca’s it Clyde.
68K.17	And the deepest pot in Clyde’s water,
	And there they flang him in,
	And put a turf on his breast-bane,
	To had Young Hunting down.
68K.18	O out it speaks a little wee bird,
	As she sat on the brier:
	‘Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,
	And pay your maiden’s hire.’
68K.19	‘O I will pay my maiden’s hire,
	And hire I’ll gie to thee;
	If ye’ll conceal this fatal deed,
	Ye’s hae gowd for your fee.’
68K.20	Then out it speaks a bonny bird,
	That flew aboon their head:
	‘Keep well, keep well your green claithing
	Frae ae drap o his bluid.’
68K.21	‘O I’ll keep well my green claithing
	Frae ae drop o his bluid,
	Better than I’ll do your flattering tongue,
	That flutters in your head.
68K.22	‘Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
	Light down upon my hand;
	For ae gowd feather that’s in your wing,
	I woud gie a’ my land.’
68K.23	‘How shall I come down, how can I come down,
	How shall I come down to thee?
	The things ye said to Young Hunting,
	The same ye’re saying to me.’
68K.24	But it fell out on that same day
	The king was going to ride,
	And he calld for him Young Hunting,
	For to ride by his side.
68K.25	Then out it speaks the little young son,
	Sat on the nurse’s knee:
	‘It fears me sair,’ said that young babe,
	‘He’s in bower wi yon ladie.’
68K.26	Then they hae calld her Lady Katharine,
	And she sware by the thorn
	That she saw not him Young Hunting
	Sin yesterday at morn.
68K.27	Then they hae calld her Lady Maisry,
	And she sware by the moon
	That she saw not him Young Hunting
	Sin yesterday at noon.
68K.28	‘He was playing him at the Clyde’s Water,
	Perhaps he has fa’en in:’
	The king he calld his divers all,
	To dive for his young son.
68K.29	They div’d in thro the wan burn-bank,
	Sae did they outthro the other:
	‘We’ll dive nae mair,’ said these young men,
	‘Suppose he were our brother.’
68K.30	Then out it spake a little bird,
	That flew aboon their head:
	‘Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,
	For there he lies indeed.
68K.31	‘But ye’ll leave aff your day diving,
	And ye’ll dive in the night;
	The pot where Young Hunting lies in,
	The candles they’ll burn bright.
68K.32	‘There are twa ladies in yon bower,
	And even in yon ha,
	And they hae killd him Young Hunting,
	And casten him awa.
68K.33	‘They booted him, and spurred him,
	As he’d been gaun to ride,
	A hunting-horn tied round his neck,
	A sharp sword by his side
68K.34	‘The deepest pot o Clyde’s Water,
	There they flang him in,
	Laid a turf on his breast-bane,
	To had Young Hunting down.’
68K.35	Now they left aff their day diving,
	And they dived on the night;
	The pot that Young Hunting lay in,
	The candles were burning bright.
68K.36	The king he calld his hewers all,
	To hew down wood and thorn,
	For to put up a strong bale-fire,
	These ladies for to burn.
68K.37	And they hae taen her Lady Katharine,
	And they hae pitten her in;
	But it wadna light upon her cheek,
	Nor woud it on her chin,
	But sang the points o her yellow hair,
	For healing the deadly sin.
68K.38	Then they hae taen her Lady Maisry,
	And they hae put her in:
	First it lighted on her cheek,
	And syne upon her chin,
	And sang the points o her yellow hair,
	And she burnt like keckle-pin.