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LORD SCALES
 
Randal's taen out her girdle knife,
He's stricken him amang his een;
It was mair for the lady's love
Than it was for his proper teen.

Out came a' her bower maidens,
In their night smocks and night rails;
It was a' for sorrow of their lady,
It was naething for Lord Scales.

Out came a' her bower maidens,
In their sma' coats green and white;
With a red rose wrought for the left breast,
And a rose wrought for the right.

Lord Scales had on a goodly coat,
It was a' bound wi' steel thickly;
Lord Randal had but a little shirt
Between the wind and his body.

The first good straik Lord Randal strak,
The red blood sprang upon his face;
It was mair for his lady's love
Than it was for her lord's grace.

The neist good straik Lord Randal strak,
The bright blood sprang upon his nails;
It was mair for love of Lady Helen
Than pity of Lord Scales.

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