65 



OR THE JEWS DAUGHTER. 



MoTHEHWELL. 



1827. 

 Yesterday was brave Hallowday, 



And, above all days of the year, 

 The schoolboys all got leave to play, 



And little Sir Hugh was there. 



Hume. 

 1849. 

 'Twas on a summer's morning, 



Some scholars were playing at ball ; 

 When out came the Jew's daughter 

 And lean'd her back against the wall. 



He kicked the ball with his foot, 

 And kepped it with Ms knee, 



And even in at the Jew's window, 

 He gart the bonnie ba' flee. 



Out then came the Jew's daughter — 

 '* Will ye come in and dine ? " 



" I winna come in, and I canna come in, 

 Till I get that ball of mine . 



She said unto the fairest boy 

 " Come here to me, Sir Hugh.' 



" No ! I will not," said he, 

 " Without my playfellows too.' 



Throw down that ball to me, maiden, 



Throw down the ball to me." 

 " I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh, 



Till ye come up to me." 



She pu'd the apple frae the tree, 



It was baith red and green, 

 She gave it unto little Sir Hugh, 



With that his heart did win. 



She wiled him into ae chamber, 



She wiled him into twa, 

 She wiled him into the third chamber, 



And that was the worst o't a'. 



She took out a little pen-knife, 

 Hung low down by her spare, 



She twin'd this young thing o' his life, 

 And a word he ne'er spak mair. 



And first came out the thick, thick blood, 



And syne cam out the thin, 

 And syne came out the bonnie heart's blood, 



There was nae mair within. 



She took an apple out of her pocket, 

 And trundled it along the plain ; 



And who was readiest to lift it, 

 Was little Sir Hugh, again. 



She took him by the milk-white han', 

 An' led him through many a hall, 



Until they came to one stone chamber, 

 Where no man might hear his call. 



She set him in a goolden chair, 

 And jagg'd him with a pin ; 



And called for a goolden cup 

 To houl' his heart's blood in. 



