As I was walking all alone,
I heard twa corbies makin mane;
And one unto the other did say,
"Where shall we gang and dine today?"
"Oh behind that foul black dyke,
There lies the body of a fresh slain knight;
And nobody knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair."
"His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady's laying with another,
So we may make our dinner sweet."
"You sit on his white chest bone,
And I'll pick out his bonny blue eyes;
With a lock of his golden hair
We'll thatch our nest where it grows bare.
"Many a one for him makes mane,
But nobody knows where he has gone;
Through his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind shall blow for evermore."
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