University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads

Edited by Francis James Child.

expand sectionI. 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII. 
expand sectionIV. 
expand sectionV. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
collapse sectionIX. 
expand section266. 
expand section267. 
expand section268. 
collapse section269. 
  
  
  
  
  
expand section270. 
expand section271. 
expand section272. 
expand section273. 
expand section274. 
expand section275. 
expand section276. 
expand section277. 
expand section278. 
expand section279. 
expand section280. 
expand section281. 
expand section282. 
expand section283. 
expand section284. 
expand section285. 
expand section286. 
expand section287. 
expand section288. 
expand section289. 
expand section290. 
expand section291. 
expand section292. 
expand section293. 
expand section294. 
expand section295. 
expand section296. 
expand section297. 
expand section298. 
expand section299. 
expand section300. 
expand section301. 
expand section302. 
expand section303. 
expand section304. 
expand section305. 

LORD RANDAL—D

[_]

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, iii, 292.

1

O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?’
‘I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

2

‘Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?’
‘I din'd wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

3

‘What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?’
‘I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

4

‘What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?’
‘O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

5

‘O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son!
O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!’
‘O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.’