“Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, and let me be;
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,
For all the gifts that ye cou’d gi’e.”

She’s turn’d her richt and round about,
And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
That she’d gar me rue the day I was born.

Then out has she ta’en a silver wand,
And she turn’d her three times round and round;
She mutter’d sic words, that my strength it fail’d,
And I fell down senseless on the ground.

She turn’d me into an ugly worm,
And gar’d me toddle about the tree;
And aye on ilka Saturday night,
Auld Alison Gross she came to me,

With silver basin, and silver kame,
To kame my headie upon her knee;
But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,
I’d ha’e toddled for ever about the tree.

But as it fell out on last Hallow-e’en,
When the seely court was ridin’ by,
The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
Near by the tree where I wont to lye.

She took me up in her milk-white hand,
And she straik’d me three times o’er her knee;
She chang’d me again to my ain proper shape,
And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.

Ballad:  The Heir Of Lynne

Of all the lords in faire Scotland
A song I will begin: 
Amongst them all dwelled a lord
Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.

His father and mother were dead him froe,
And so was the head of all his kinne;
He did neither cease nor blinne
To the cards and dice that he did run.

To drinke the wine that was so cleere! 
With every man he would make merry. 
And then bespake him John of the Scales,
Unto the heire of Lynne say’d hee,

Sayes “how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,
Doest either want gold or fee? 
Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode
To such a good fellow as me?

“For . .  I . . " he said,
“My land, take it unto thee;
I draw you to record, my lords all;”
With that he cast him a Gods pennie.

He told him the gold upon the bord,
It wanted never a bare penny. 
“That gold is thine, the land is mine,
The heire of Lynne I will bee.”

“Heeres gold enough,” saithe the heire of Lynne,
“Both for me and my company.” 
He drunke the wine that was so cleere,
And with every man he made merry.

Within three quarters of a yeare
His gold and fee it waxed thinne,
His merry men were from him gone,
And left himselfe all alone.

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny but three,
And one was brasse and another was lead
And another was white mony.

“Now well-a-day!” said the heire of Lynne,
“Now well-a-day, and woe is mee! 
For when I was the Lord of Lynne,
I neither wanted gold nor fee;

“For I have sold my lands so broad,
And have not left me one penny! 
I must go now and take some read
Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread.”