ell the Coo there's a fine, fine laddie from the
wars sitting by the weary, weary lady with golden hair, and she weeping
for a sup o' milk."

So off he went and told the Coo, but she wouldn't hold still, so back he
went and told his mother.

"Well," said his mother, "tell the big, big Coo there's a sharp, sharp
sword at the belt of the fine, fine laddie from the wars who sits beside
the weary, weary lady with the golden hair, and she weeping for a sup o'
milk."

And he told the big, big Coo, but she wouldn't hold still.

Then said his mother, "Run quick and tell her that her head's going to
be cut off by the sharp, sharp sword in the hands of the fine, fine
laddie, if she doesn't give the sup o' milk the weary, weary lady weeps
for."

And wee, wee Mannie went off and told the big, big Coo.

And when Coo saw the glint of the sharp, sharp sword in the hand of the
fine, fine laddie come from the wars, and the weary, weary lady weeping
for a sup o' milk, she reckoned she'd better hold still; so wee, wee
Mannie milked big, big Coo, and the weary, weary lady with the golden
hair hushed her weeping and got her sup o' milk, and the fine, fine
laddie new come from the wars put by his sharp, sharp sword, and all
went well that didn't go ill.

Habetrot and Scantlie Mab

A woman had one fair daughter, who loved play better than work,
wandering in the meadows and lanes better than the spinning-wheel and
distaff. The mother was heartily vexed at this, for in those days no
lassie had any chance of a good husband unless she was an industrious
spinster. So she coaxed, threatened, even beat her daughter, but all to
no purpose; the girl remained what her mother called her, "an idle
cuttie."

At last, one spring morning, the gudewife gave her seven heads of lint,
saying she would take no excuse; they must be returned in three days
spun into yarn. The girl saw her mother was in earnest, so she plied her
distaff as well as she could; but her hands were all untaught, and by
the evening of the second day only a very small part of her task was
done. She cried herself to sleep that night, and in the morning,
throwing aside her work in despair, she strolled out into the fields,
all sparkling with dew. At last she reached a knoll, at whose feet ran a
little burn, shaded with woodbine and wild roses; and there she sat
down, burying her face in her hands. When she looked up, she was
surprised to see by the margin of the stream an