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Kempion "Come here, come here, ye freely feed, An' lay your head low on my knee, The heaviest wierd I will you read, That ever was read til a lady. O meilcle dolour shall you drie, An' ay the sa't seas o'er ye swim, An' far mair dolour shall you drie, On East-muir-craigs, ere ye them clim'. I wot yese be a weary wight, An' relieved shall you never be, Til Kempion the kingis son Come to the craig and thrice kiss thee." O meikle dolour did she drie, An' ay the sa't seas o'er she swam, An' far mair dolour did she drie On East-muir-craigs ere she them clam' An' ay she cry'd for Kempion, Gin he would but come til her hand. Now word has gane to Kempion That sic a beast was in his land; An' a be sure she would gae mad, Gin she got nae helping frae his hand. Now, by my sooth, says Kempion, This fiery beast I'll gang and see. And by my sooth, says Segramour, My ae brother, I'll gang you wi'. O biggit ha' they a bonny boat, An'they ha' set her to the sea An' Kempion and Sagramour The fiery beast ha' gane to see. A mile afore they reach'd the shore, She gar'd the red fire flee. "O Segramour, keep my boat afloat An' lat her nae the land sae near For the wicked beast shall sure gae mad An' set fire to a' my land and mair." "O out o'my sty I winna rise And it is not for the awe o'thee, Til Kempion the kingis son, Come to the craig and thrice kiss me." He's louted him o'er the East-muir-craig, An' he has gane her kisses ane; Awa' she gi'd, and again she came, The fieryest beast that ever was seen. "O out o' my sty i winna rise, An' it is not for the awe o' thee, Till Kempion the kingis son Come to the craig and twice kiss me." He's louted him o'er the East-muir-craig, An' he has gien her kisses twa; Awa' she gi'd and a gain she came The fieryest beast that ever you saw. "O, out o' my sty i winna rise, An' it is not for the awe o'thee, Till Kempion the kingis son Come to the craig and thrice kiss me." He's louted him o'er the East-muir-craigs, And he has gi'n her kisses three; Awa'she gi'd and again she came The bonnyest lady that ever could be. An' by my sooth, says Kempion, My ain true love, (for this is she,) O was it wolf into the wood, Or was it fish into the sea, Or was it man, or vile woman, My ain true love, that misshap'd thee? "It was not wolf into the wood, Nor was it fish into the sea, But it was my wicked step-mother An' wae and weary may she be! O a heavier wierd light her upon, Than ever fell on vile woman, Her hairs' grow rough, and her teeths' grow lang And on her four feet shall she gang; Nane shall take pity her upon, But in wormes wood she shall ay won; An' relieved shall she never be Til Saint Mungo come o'er the sea." An' sighing said that weary wight, I fear that day I'll never see. Child #34 From Singing Tradition of Child's Popular Ballads, Bronson Note: See KEMPOWNE: this version is also incomnplete, but leaves out different things. RG
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