The book of British ballads . &ons o (© We lie not here for owsen, father ; Nor yet do we for kye ;But its for a little o dear-boucht love, Sae sair bound as we lie. Oh, borrow us, borrow us, father, they said,* For the luve we bear to thee! * 0 never fear, my pretty sons,Weel borrowed ye sail be. Then hes gane to the michty Mayor, And he spak courteouslie: Will ye grant my twa sons lives, Either for gold or fee ?Or will ye be sae gude a man, As grant them baith to me ? £ Ill no grant ye your twa sons lives, Neither for gold nor fee ;Nor will I be sae gude a man, As gie them baith
The book of British ballads . &ons o (© We lie not here for owsen, father ; Nor yet do we for kye ;But its for a little o dear-boucht love, Sae sair bound as we lie. Oh, borrow us, borrow us, father, they said,* For the luve we bear to thee! * 0 never fear, my pretty sons,Weel borrowed ye sail be. Then hes gane to the michty Mayor, And he spak courteouslie: Will ye grant my twa sons lives, Either for gold or fee ?Or will ye be sae gude a man, As grant them baith to me ? £ Ill no grant ye your twa sons lives, Neither for gold nor fee ;Nor will I be sae gude a man, As gie them baith to thee ;But before the morn at twal oclock, Yell see them hangit hie ! Ben it came the Mayors dauchters, Wi kirtle coat, alone;Their eyes did sparkle like the gold, As they tripped on the stone. Will ye gie us our loves, father, For gold, or yet for fee ?Or will ye take our own sweet lives, And let our true loves be ? Hes taen a whip into his hand,And lashed them wondrous sair : Gae to your bowers, ye vile limmers;Yese never see them mair. H. C.
Size: 971px × 2572px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidg, bookpublisherlondonjhow
