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O I will sing to you a sang, But oh my heart is sair! The clerk's twa sons in Owsenford Has to learn some unco lair. They hadna been in fair Parish A twelvemonth an a day, Till the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford Wi the mayor's twa dauthrers lay. O word's gaen to the mighty mayor, As he saild on the sea, That the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford Wi his twa daughters lay. 'If they hae lain wi my twa daughters, Meg an Marjorie, The morn, or I taste meat or drink, They shall be hangit hie.' O word's gaen to the clerk himself, As he sat drinkin wine, That his twa sons in fair Parish Were bound in prison strong. Then up and spak the clerk's ladye, And she spak powrfully: 'O tak with ye a purse of gold, Or take with ye three, And if ye canna get William, Bring Andrew hame to me.' * * * * 'O lye ye here for owsen, dear sons, Or lie ye here for kye? Or what is it that ye lie for, Sae sair bound as ye lie?' 'We lie not here for owsen, dear father, Nor yet lie here for kye, But it's for a little o dear bought love Sae sair bound as we lie.' O he's gane to the mighty mayor, And he spoke powerfully: 'Will ye grant me my twa sons' lives, Either for gold or fee? Or will ye be sae gude a man As grant them baith to me?' 'I'll no grant ye yere twa sons' lives, Neither for gold or fee, Nor will I be sae gude a man As gie them back to thee; Before the morn at twelve o'clock Ye'll see them hangit hie.' Up an spak his twa daughters, An they spak powrfully: 'Will ye grant us our twa loves' lives, Either for gold or fee? Or will ye be sae gude a man As grant them baith to me.' 'I'll no grant ye yere twa loves' lives, Neither for gold or fee, Nor will I be sae gude a man As grant their lives to thee; Before the morn at twelve o'clock Ye'll see them hangit hie.' O he's taen out these proper youths, And hangd them on a tree, And he's bidden the clerk o Owsenford Gang hame to his ladie. His lady sits on yon castle-wa, Beholding dale an doun, An there she saw her ain gude lord Come walkin to the toun. 'Ye're welcome, welcome, my ain gude lord, Ye're welcome hame to me; But where away are my twa sons? Ye should hae brought them wi ye.' 'It's I've putten them to a deeper lair, An to a higher schule; Yere ain twa sons ill no be here Till the hallow days o Yule.' 'O sorrow, sorrow come mak my bed, An dool come lay me doon! For I'll neither eat nor drink, Nor set a fit on ground.' = = weel, de weel, my twa young sons, An learn weel at the squeel; Tak no up wi young women-kin, An learn to act the feel.' But they had na been in Blomsbury A twalmon and a day, Till the twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord Wi the mayr's dauchters did lay. Word has gaen till the auld base mayr, As he sat at his wine, That the twa pretty clerks o Owsenford Wi his daughters had lien. Then out bespak the auld base mayr, An an angry man was he: 'Tomorrow, before I eat meat or drink, I'll see them hanged hie.' But word has gaen to Owsenfoord . . . . . Before the letter was read, She let the tears doun fa. * * * * 'Your sons are weel, an verra weel, An learnin at the squeel; But I fear ye winna see your sons At the holy days o Yeel.' Their father he went to Bloomsbury, He turnit him roun about, An there he saw his twa braw sons, In the prison, leukin out. 'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons, Or lie ye there for kye? Or lie ye there for dear fond love, Si closs as ye de lie?' 'We lie na here for owsen, father, We lie na here for kye, But we lie here for dear fond love, An we're condemned to die.' * * * * Then out bespak the clerks' fader, An a sorry man was he: 'Gae till you bowers, ye lillie-flowers, For a' this winna dee.' Then out bespak the aul base mayr, An an angry man was he: 'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores, Ye'll see them hanged hie.' * * * * = = 'rr tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song, Will grieve your heart full sair; How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford Went aff to learn their lear. Their father lovd them very weel, Their mother muckle mair, And sent them on to Billsbury, To learn deeper lear. Then out it spake their mother dear: 'Do weel, my sons, do weel, And haunt not wi the young women, Wi them to play the fiel.' Their father sware them on their souls, Their mother on their life, Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters, Nor kiss the young mayor's wife. But they hadna been in Billsbury A twallmonth and a day, Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With the mayor's twa daughters lay. As these twa clerks they sat and wrote, The ladies sewed and sang; There was mair mirth in that chamber Than all fair Ferrol's land. But word's gane to the wicked mayor, As he sat at the wine, That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With his twa daughters had lyne.
