He stripped the sheet from aff her face A little below the chin; The lady then she open'd her eyes, And looked full on him. "O give me a shive o' your bread, love, O give me a cup o' your wine! Long have I fasted for your sake, And now I fain would dine. "Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers, And ye may say that ye sought my skaith, Tales of the Olden Time Tales of the Olden Time Earl Mar's Daughter It was intill a pleasant time, The noble Earl of Mar's daughter And as she played and sported "O Coo-my-doo, my love sae true, "I'll tak' ye hame and pet ye weel, Within my bower and ha'; I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'!" And she had nae these words weel spoke, Till Coo-my-doo flew frae the branch, And lighted on her head. Then she has brought this pretty bird Hame to her bower and ha', And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a’. When day was gane, and night was come, About the evening-tide, This lady spied a bonny youth 66 Stand straight up by her side. Now whence come ye, young man," she said, "To put me into fear? My door was bolted right secure, And what way cam' ye here?" "O haud your tongue, my lady fair, Ye coax'd from aff the tree?" "O wha are ye, young man?" she said, "My mither is a queen," he says, Likewise of magic skill; "Twas she that turned me in a doo, To fly where'er I will. "And it was but this verra day That I cam' ower the sea: I loved you at a single look; Tales of the Olden Time Tales of the Olden Time 66 "O Coo-my-doo, my love sac true, There he has lived in bower wi' her, Till sax young sons to him she bare, But aye, as soon's a child was born, And brought them to his mither's care, Thus he has stay'd in bower wi' her But still his proffer she refused, Wi' my bird Coo-my-doo!" Her father sware an angry oath, That bird I'll surely kill." Then Coo-my-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea, And lighted at his mither's castle, The Queen his mither was walking out, And there she saw her darling son "Get dancers here to dance," she said, For here's my dear son Florentine "Get nae dancers to dance, mither, For the mither o' my seven sons, "Now tell me, dear son Florentine, O tell, and tell me true; Tell me this day, without delay, What sall I do for you?" Tales of the Olden Time |