Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,
She was baith jimp and small: 
“Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,
And tow me o’er the wall.”

They row’d her in a pair of sheets,
And tow’d her o’er the wall;
But on the point of Gordon’s spear
She got a deadly fall.

Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
And cherry were her cheeks;
And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
Whereon the red bluid dreeps.

Then with his spear he turn’d her o’er,
Oh, gin her face was wan! 
He said—­“You are the first that e’er
I wish’d alive again.”

He turn’d her o’er and o’er again,
Oh, gin her skin was white! 
“I might ha’e spared that bonnie face
To ha’e been some man’s delight.

“Busk and boun, my merry men all,
For ill dooms I do guess;
I canna look on that bonnie face,
As it lyes on the grass!”

“Wha looks to freits, {14} my master dear,
Their freits will follow them;
Let it ne’er be said brave Edom o’ Gordon
Was daunted with a dame.”

[But when the ladye saw the fire
Come flaming o’er her head,
She wept, and kissed her children twain;
Said—­“Bairns, we been but dead.”

The Gordon then his bugle blew,
And said—­“Away, away! 
The house of Towie is all in a flame,
I hald it time to gae.”]

Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,
As he came o’er the lea;
He saw his castle all in a flame,
As far as he could see.

Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,
And oh, his heart was wae! 
“Put on, put on, my wighty {15} men,
As fast as ye can gae.

“Put on, put on, my wighty men,
As fast as ye can drie;
For he that is hindmost of the thrang
Shall ne’er get gude of me!”

Then some they rade, and some they ran,
Full fast out o’er the bent;
But ere the foremost could win up,
Baith ladye and babes were brent.

[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And wept in tearful mood;
“Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
Ye shall weep tears of bluid.”

And after the Gordon he has gane,
Sae fast as he might drie;
And soon in the Gordon’s foul heart’s bluid
He’s wroken {16} his dear layde.]

And mony were the mudie {17} men
Lay gasping on the green;
And mony were the fair ladyes
Lay lemanless at hame.

And mony were the mudie men
Lay gasping on the green;
For of fifty men the Gordon brocht,
There were but five gaed hame.

And round, and round the walls he went,
Their ashes for to view;
At last into the flames he flew,
And bade the world adieu.

Ballad:  Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament

(Child, vol. iv.  Early Edition.)

Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep,
If thou’lt be silent, I’ll be glad,
Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. 
Balow, my boy, thy mother’s joy,
Thy father bred one great annoy. 
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.