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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Edward
The Ballad
 
1.  “WHY 1 dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
                  Edward, Edward,
  Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
      And why sae sad gang yee O?”
    “O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,        5
                  Mither, mither,
    O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
      And I had nae mair bot hee O.”
 
2.  “Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
                  Edward, Edward,        10
  Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
      My deir son I tell thee O.”
    “O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
                  Mither, mither,
    O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,        15
      That erst was sae fair and frie O.”
 
3.  “Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
                  Edward, Edward,
  Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
      Sum other dule ye drie O.” 2        20
    “O I hae killed my fadir deir,
                  Mither, mither,
    O I hae killed my fadir deir,
      Alas, and wae is mee O!”
 
4.  “And whatten penance wul ye drie, for that,        25
                  Edward, Edward,
  And whatten penance wul ye drie, for that?
      My deir son, now tell me O.”
    “I’ll set my feit in yonder boat,
                  Mither, mither,        30
    I’ll set my feit in yonder boat,
      And I’ll fare over the sea O.”
 
5.  “And what wul ye doe wi’ your towers and your ha’,
                  Edward, Edward,
  And what wul ye doe wi’ your towers and your ha’,        35
      That were sae fair to see O?”
    “I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,
                  Mither, mither,
    I’ll let them stand till they doun fa’,
      For here nevir mair maun I bee O.”        40
 
6.  “And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
                  Edward, Edward,
  And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
      When ye gang over the sea O?”
    “The warldis room; let them beg thrae life,        45
                  Mither, mither,
    The warldis room; let them beg thrae life,
      For them never mair wul I see O.”
 
7.  “And what wul ye leive to your ain mither dear,
                  Edward, Edward,        50
  And what will ye leive to your ain mither dear?
      My dear son, now tell me O.”
    “The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
                  Mither, mither,
    The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,        55
      Sic counsels ye gave to me O.”
 
Note 1. One of the finest of our ballads. It was sent from Scotland to Percy by David Dalrymple. [back]
Note 2. You suffer some other sorrow. [back]
 
 
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