| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
38 |
GIL MOBEICE. |
||
|
And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin:
" O better I be my Gill Morice Than a' my kith and kin ! "
" Away, away, ze il woman, And an ill deith mait ze dee :
Gin I had ken'd he 'd bin zour son, He M neir bin slain for mee." |
|||
|
1T7 " Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard! Obraid me not for shame! Wi' that saim speir, 0 pierce my heart! And put me out o' pain.
" Since nothing bot Gill Morice' head Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life That neir to thee did ill.
" To me nae after days nor nichts
Will eir be saft or kind; I '11 fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind."
" Enouch of blood by me 's bin spilt, Seek not zour death frae me;
I rather lourd it had been my sel Than eather him or thee.
" With waefo wae I hear zour plaint;
Sair, sair I rew the deid, That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
153. Stall copy, Anijlrst she kissed. |
|||