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380 MINSTRELSY OF
He lighted at the ladye's yate.
And sat him on a pin ;
And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,
Till a' was cosh * within.
And first he sang a low low note,
And syne he sang a clear ;
And aye the o'erword o' the sang
Was — " Your love can no win here.
Feast on, feast on, my maidens a\
" The wine flows you amang.
While I gang to my shot-window,
" And hear yon bonny bird's sang.
" Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
*' The sang ye sung yestreen ;
*' For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,
" Ye are frae my true love sen."
O first he sang a merry sang.
And syne he sang a grave ;
And syne he peck'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
♦ CWi— Quiet.

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