( 5 )
But when the simmer was over,
O pale and wane grew I!
Like ane risen out o’ a fever,
or ane just gaun to die!
My master he came an' asked me,
what was the matter wi’ me ?
If I knew any thing that wou’d case me,
at my comman’ it shou’d be.
Oh! I maun own my crime, Sir,
tho’ it be to my shame and disgrace,
I went out for to meet wi’ the lad,
the lad that gi’es out your mass;
His voice it was too shrill,
he pitch'd o’er high for me;
And ay sinsyne I remember
that I been likin’ to die.
Then my laddie was sent for,
and he came hingin’ his mou’;
Says Mess John had you been a good bairn
we wadna hae sent for you:
My lassie is lyin’ sick,
an’ on, you she lays a’ the blame ;
An’ ye ken ony way ye’ve wrang’d her,
ye’ll raise her as speedy again.
O I never harm’d your lassie,
neither by night nor by day;
But it was on a fine simmer-evening,
when crossing o’er the way,
When crossing o’er the way,
I learn’d her how to sing,
And pitching the high notes o’ bangor,
has driven her a’ out o’ tune.
