LORD RANDAL—A
[_]
From a small manuscript volume lent me by Mr William
Macmath, of Edinburgh, containing four pieces written in or
about 1710, and this ballad in a later hand. Charles Mackie,
August, 1808, is scratched upon the binding.
1
‘O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son?
And where ha you been, my handsome young man?’
‘I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.’
2
‘An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son?
An wha met you there, my handsome young man?’
‘O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi huntin, an fain wad lie down.’
3
‘And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?
And what did she give you, my handsome young man?’
‘Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.’
4
‘And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son?
And wha gat your leavins, my handsom young man?’
‘My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.’
5
‘And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son?
And what becam of them, my handsome young man?’
‘They stretched their legs out an died; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.’
6
‘O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!
I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!’
‘O yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.’
7
‘What d'ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?’
‘Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.’
8
‘What d'ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?’
‘My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, an I fain wad lie down.’
9
‘What d'ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?’
‘My houses and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.’
10
‘What d'ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?’
‘I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.’
