“And whatten kin’ o’ wark had ye there to make,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And whatten kin’ o’ wark had ye there to make?
    And I wot I hae but anither.”
“I watered my steeds with water frae the lake,
    O dear mither.”

“Why is your coat sae fouled the day,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
Why is your coat sae fouled the day?
    And I wot I hae but anither.”
“The steeds were stamping sair by the weary banks of clay,
    O dear mither.”

“And where gat ye thae sleeves of red,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And where gat ye thae sleeves of red?
    And I wot I hae but anither.”
“I have slain my ae brither by the weary water-head,
    O dear mither.”

“And where will ye gang to mak your mend,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And where will ye gang to mak your mend?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“The warldis way, to the warldis end,
    O dear mither.”

“And what will ye leave your father dear,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And what will ye leave your father dear?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“The wood to fell and the logs to bear,
For he’ll never see my body mair,
    O dear mither.”

“And what will ye leave your mither dear,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And what will ye leave your mither dear?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“The wool to card and the wool to wear,
For ye’ll never see my body mair,
    O dear mither.”

“And what will ye leave for your wife to take,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And what will ye leave for your wife to take?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“A goodly gown and a fair new make,
For she’ll do nae mair for my body’s sake,
    O dear mither.”

“And what will ye leave your young son fair,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And what will ye leave your young son fair?
    And I wot ye hae not anither.”
“A twiggen school-rod for his body to bear,
Though it garred him greet he’ll get nae mair,
    O dear mither.”

“And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And what will ye leave your little daughter sweet?
    And I wot ye hae not anither.”
“Wild mulberries for her mouth to eat,
She’ll get nae mair though it garred her greet,
    O dear mither.”

“And when will ye come back frae roamin’,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
And when will ye come back frae roamin’?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“When the sunrise out of the north is comen,
    O dear mither.”

“When shall the sunrise on the north side be,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
When shall the sunrise on the north side be?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“When chuckie-stanes shall swim in the sea,
    O dear mither.”

“When shall stanes in the sea swim,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
When shall stanes in the sea swim?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“When birdies’ feathers are as lead therein,
    O dear mither.”

“When shall feathers be as lead,
    My merry son, come tell me hither?
When shall feathers be as lead?
    And I wot I hae not anither.”
“When God shall judge between the quick and dead,
    O dear mither.”