POSTHUMOUS POEMS
Yestreen my maids took off the sheet
To wash i' the Westland Well,
And lest the bonny web suld ravel,
I set a hand mysel.
To wash i' the Westland Well,
And lest the bonny web suld ravel,
I set a hand mysel.
We washed the blue thread and the brown,
The white thread and the black;
And sae cam ben your fause bloodhound,
And bit me in the back.
The white thread and the black;
And sae cam ben your fause bloodhound,
And bit me in the back.
Sae sair it rent and bit, mither,
Sae sair it bit and clang,
And ever I hope in God, mither,
Ye'll gar that bloodhound hang.
Sae sair it bit and clang,
And ever I hope in God, mither,
Ye'll gar that bloodhound hang.
What's this o't now, maiden Janet?
What's this o't now? quo' she;
There's nae such hound that bites women,
There's nae such langs to me.
What's this o't now? quo' she;
There's nae such hound that bites women,
There's nae such langs to me.
Tell me now, Janet, she says,
And I winna gar ye lee,
Is this a hound's tooth or a child's shaping
That mars your straight body?
And I winna gar ye lee,
Is this a hound's tooth or a child's shaping
That mars your straight body?
O where your cheek was red, Janet,
Your cheek is sick and wan;
And where your back was right and flat,
It bows like a loaden man.
Your cheek is sick and wan;
And where your back was right and flat,
It bows like a loaden man.
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