Luyện nghe bài hát Chylde Owlet

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