CHYLDE OWLET  Lady Erskine sits in her bower  A sewing her silken seam  A bonnie sark for Chylde Owlet  As he gangs oot and in  His face was fair, lang was his hair  She's ca'd him to come nigh  Oh ye maun cuckold Lord Ronald  For a' his lands and kye  Oh lady, hold your tongue for shame  That such a thing e'er be done  How could I cuckold Lord Ronald  And me his sister's son  Then she's ta'en oot a wee penknife  That lay beside her bed  And pricked hersel below her breist  Which made her body bleed  Lord Ronald's come into her bower  Whaur she did mak' her mane  Oh, wha's is a' this blood, he says  That sparks on your hearth stane?  Young Chylde Owlet, your sister's son  Is new gane frae my bower  Gin I hadnae been a good woman  I'd hae been Chylde Owlet's whore  Then he has ta'en young Chylde Owlet  Cast him in prison strang  And a his men a council held  To work Chylde Owlet wrang  Some said Chylde Owlet should be hung  Some said that he should burn  Some said they would hae Chylde Owlet  Between wild horses torn  There are horses in my stable stand  Can rin richt speedily  It's ye maun tae my stable gang  And wile oot four far me  They've put a horse to ilka foot  and ain tae ilka hand  And sent them oot ower Elkin Moor  As fast as they could gang  There wasnae grass nor heather knowe  Nor broom nor bonnie whin  But drappit wi' Chylde Owlet's blood  And pieces o' his skin  There wasnae stane on Elkin Moor  Nor yet a piece o' rush  But drappit wi' Chylde Owlet's blood  And pieces o' his flesh  Child #291  recorded by Peggy Seeger and Ewan MacColl on Blood & Roses  filename[ CHDOWLET  SF  ===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY===