5
What's that thou say'st, thou limmer loon,
Or how dare you stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
Here is my glove—thou shalt fight me.
Christy stoop'd low unto tho ground,
Unto the ground, as you'll understand,
O father, put on your glove again,
The wind hath blown it from your hand
What's that thou say'st, thou limmer loon,
How dare you stand to speak to me?
If you do not end this quarrel soon,
Hore is my hand, thou shalt fight me.
Christy Graham is to his chamber gone,
And for to study, as well might be,
Whether to fight with his father dear,
Or with his bully Bewick he.
If it be my fortune my bully to kill,
As you shall boldly understand,
In every town that I ride through,
They'll say, there rides a brotherless man,
Nay, for to kill my brother dear,
I think it were a deadly sin;
And for to kill my father dear,
Tho blessing of Heav'n I ne'er shall win.
O give me your blessing, father, he said,
And pray well for me then to thrive?
If it bo my fortuno my bully to kill,
I swear I shall nover como home alive.
Ho put on his back, a good old jacket,
And on his head a cap of steel;
