‘Your hawk’s blude was never sae red, Edward, Edward; Your hawk’s blude was never sae red, My dear son, I tell thee, O.’-- ‘O I hae kill’d my red-roan steed, Mither, mither; O I hae kill’d my red-roan steed, That erst was sae fair and free, O.’
‘Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair, Edward, Edward; Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair; Some other dule ye dree[433], O.’-- ‘O I hae kill’d my father dear, Mither, mither; O I hae kill’d my father dear, Alas, and wae is me, O!’
‘And whatten penance will ye dree for that, Edward, Edward? Whatten penance will ye dree for that? My dear son, now tell me, O.’-- ‘I’ll set my feet in yonder boat, Mither, mither; I’ll set my feet in yonder boat, And I’ll fare over the sea, O.’
‘And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’, Edward, Edward? And what will ye do wi’ your tow’rs and your ha’, 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 never mair maun I be, O.’
‘And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang owre the sea, O?’-- ‘The warld’s room: let them beg through life, Mither, mither; The warld’s room: let them beg through life; For them never mair will I see, O.’
‘And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, Edward, Edward? And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, My dear son, now tell me, O?’-- ‘The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear, Mither, mither; The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear: Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!’
‘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.’
‘Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?’-- ‘I dined wi’ my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I’m weary wi’ hunting, and fain wald lie down.’
‘What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?’-- ‘I gat eels boil’d in broo’; mother, make my bed soon, For I’m weary wi’ hunting, and fain wald lie down.’
‘What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son? What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?’-- ‘O they swell’d and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I’m weary wi’ hunting, and fain wald lie down.’