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New Collected Rhymes by Andrew Lang
page 57 of 63 (90%)

And she's run in by the dern black yett,
Straight till the Queen ran she:
"Oh! tak ye back your siller band,
Or it gar my brother dee!"

The Queen has linked her siller band
About her middle sma';
And then she heard her ain gudeman
Come rowting through the ha'.

"Oh! whare," he cried, "is the siller band
I gied ye late yestreen?
The knops was a' o' the diamond stane,
Set in the siller sheen."

"Ye hae camped birling at the wine,
A' nicht till the day did daw;
Or ye wad ken your siller band
About my middle sma'!"

The King he stude, the King he glowered,
Sae hard as a man micht stare.
"Deil hae me! Like is a richt ill mark, -
Or I saw it itherwhere!

"I saw it round young Ruthven's neck
As he lay sleeping still;
And, faith, but the wine was wondrous guid,
Or my wife is wondrous ill!"
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