C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Twa Brothers
By The Ballad
1.
THERE were twa brethren in the north, | They went to the school thegither; | The one unto the other said, | “Will you try a warsle afore?” 2. | They warsled up, they warsled down, | Till Sir John fell to the ground, | And there was a knife in Sir Willie’s pouch, | Gied him a deadlie wound. 3. | “Oh brither dear, take me on your back, | Carry me to yon burn clear, | And wash the blood from off my wound, | And it will bleed nae mair.” 4. | He took him up upon his back, | Carried him to yon burn clear, | And washed the blood from off his wound, | But aye it bled the mair. 5. | “Oh brither dear, take me on your back, | Carry me to yon kirk-yard, | And dig a grave baith wide and deep, | And lay my body there.” 6. | He’s taen him up upon his back, | Carried him to yon kirk-yard, | And dug a grave baith deep and wide, | And laid his body there. 7. | “But what will I say to my father dear, | Gin he chance to say, Willie, whar’s John?” | “Oh say that he’s to England gone, | To buy him a cask of wine.” 8. | “And what will I say to my mother dear, | Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar’s John?” | “Oh say that he’s to England gone, | To buy her a new silk gown.” 9. | “And what will I say to my sister dear, | Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar’s John?” | “Oh say that he’s to England gone, | To buy her a wedding ring.” 10. | “But what will I say to her you loe dear, | Gin she cry, Why tarries my John?” | “Oh tell her I lie in Kirk-land fair, | And home again will never come.”
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