Simonetta Becchetti - Lord Randall (Scottish Traditional) | Текст песни

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• Simonetta Becchetti
• Lord Randall (Scottish Traditional)

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1 '0 WHERE ha you been, Lord Randal, my son?
And where ha you been, my handsome young man?
'I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I 'en wearied wi hunting, and lain wad lie down

2 'An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son?
An wha met you there, my handsome young man?
'0 I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I 'm wearied wi huntin, an fain wad lie own.'

3 'And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?
And what slid she give you, my handsome young man?'
'Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'mi wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.'

4 'And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son?
And wha gat your leavins, my handsom young man ?'
'My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

5 'And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son?
And what becam of them, my handsome young man ?'
'They stretched their legs out an died; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I 'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down'

6 '0 I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!
I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man
'0 yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

7 'What d'ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son ?
What d'ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?'
'Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

8 'What d'ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?'
'My gold and niy silver; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, an I fain wad lie down.'

9 'What d'ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d'ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?'
'My houses and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

10 'What d'ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal my son?
What d'ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?'
'I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I 'in sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'