P. 185, III, 500. In C.K. Sharpe's papers there is
the following version, in Motherwell's handwriting,
sent by him to Sharpe with a letter dated Paisley, 8th
October, 1825.
'The Broom blooms bonnie,' from the recitation of Agnes
Lyle, Kilbarchan.
| 1 |
'There is a feast in your father's house,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
It becomes you and me to be very douce.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 2 |
'Will you go to yon hill so hie,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
Take your bow and your arrow wi thee.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 3 |
He's tane his lady on his back,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
And his auld son in his coat-lap.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 4 |
'When ye hear me give a cry,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
Ye'll shoot your bow and let me ly.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 5 |
'When ye see me lying still,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
Throw awa your bow and come running me till.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 6 |
When he heard her gie a cry,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
He shot his bow and he let her lye.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 7 |
When he saw she was lying still,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
He threw awa his bow and came running her till.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 8 |
It was nae wonder his heart was sad,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
When he shot his auld son at her head.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 9 |
He howkit a grave lang, large and wide,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
He buried his auld son down by her side.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 10 |
It was nae wonder his heart was sair,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
When he shooled the mools on her yellow hair.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 11 |
'Oh,' said his father,' son, but thou'rt sad,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
At our braw meeting you micht be glad.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 12 |
'Oh,' said he, 'father, I've lost my knife,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
I loved as dear almost as my own life.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 13 |
'But I have lost a far better thing,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
I lost the sheathe that the knife was in.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 14 |
'Hold thy tongue and mak nae din,
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
I'll buy thee a sheath and a knife therein.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 15 |
'A' the ships ere sailed the sea
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
Neer'll bring such a sheathe and knife to me.
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
| 16 |
'A' the smiths that lives on land
The broom blooms bonnie, and so is it fair
Will neer bring such a sheath and knife to my hand.'
And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair |
III, 500. E. Colonel W.F. Prideaux has printed this piece,
from a manuscript of Motherwell's in his possession, in Notes and
Queries, Eighth Series, I, 372, with the trifling variations (or
confirmations of doubtful readings) here annexed.
P. 210 b, to III, 500. Mr. Macmath informs me that
the manuscript of Motherwell here referred to is the
same as that already printed, and correctly printed, at
III, 500 f.
