242A: The Coble o Cargin

242A.1	 DAVID DRUMMONDRR’rrS destinie,
	 Gude man o appearance o Cargill;
	 I wat his blude rins in the flude,
	 Sae sair against his parents’ will.
242A.2	 She was the lass o Balathy toun,
	 And he the butler o Stobhall,
	 And mony a time she wauked late
	 To bore the coble o Cargill.
242A.3	 His bed was made in Kercock ha,
	 Of gude clean sheets and of [the] hay;
	 He wudna rest ae nicht therein,
	 But on the prude waters he wud gae.
242A.4	 His bed was made in Balathy toun,
	 Of the clean sheets and of the strae;
	 But I wat it was far better made
	 Into the bottom o bonnie Tay.
242A.5	 She bored the coble in seven pairts,
	 I wat her heart might hae been fu sair;
	 For there she got the bonnie lad lost
	 Wi the curly locks and the yellow hair.
242A.6	 He put his foot into the boat,
	 He little thocht o ony ill;
	 But before that he was mid-waters,
	 The weary coble began to fill.
242A.7	 ‘Woe be to the lass o Balathy toun,
	 I wat an ill death may she die!
	 For she bored the coble in seven pairts,
	 And let the waters perish me.
242A.8	 ‘Oh, help, oh help, I can get nane,
	 Nae help o man can to me come!’
	 This was about his dying words,
	 When he was choaked up to the chin.
242A.9	 ‘Gae tell my father and my mother
	 It was naebody did me this ill;
	 I was a-going my ain errands,
	 Lost at the coble o bonnie Cargill.’
242A.10	 She bored the boat in seven pairts,
	 I wat she bored it wi gude will;
	 And there they got the bonnie lad’s corpse,
	 In the kirk-shot o bonnie Cargill.
242A.11	 Oh a’ the keys o bonnie Stobha
	 I wat they at his belt did hing;
	 But a’ the keys of bonnie Stobha
	 They now ly low into the stream.
242A.12	 A braver page into his age
	 Neer set a foot upon the plain;
	 His father to his mother said,
	 ‘Oh, sae soon as we’ve wanted him!
242A.13	 ‘I wat they had mair luve than this
	 When they were young and at the scule;
	 But for his sake she wauked late,
	 And bored the coble o bonnie Cargill.’
242A.14	 ‘There’s neer a clean sark gae on my back,
	 Nor yet a kame gae in my hair;
	 There’s neither coal nor candle-licht
	 Shall shine in my bouir foe evir mair.
242A.15	 ‘At kirk nor market I’se neer be at,
	 Nor yet a blythe blink in my ee;
	 There’s neer a ane shall say to anither,
	 That’s the lassie gard the young man die.
242A.16	 ‘Between the yates o bonnie Stobha
	 And the kirk-style o bonnie Cargill,
	 There is mony a man and mother’s son
	 That was at my love’s burial.’