"If I was to leave my husband dear, And my twa babes also, O where is it ye would tak' me to, If I with thee should go?" "I hae seven ships upon the sea, The eighth brouct me to land, Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music of ilka hand." She has taken up her twa little babes, Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin; "O fare ye weel, my ain twa babes, For I'll never see you again." She set her foot upon the ship, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o' the taffetie, And the masts o' the beaten gold. "O how do you love the ship?" he said, "O how do you love the sea? And how do you love the bold mariners That wait upon thee and me?" "O I do love the ship," she said, "And I do love the sea; But wae to the dim mariners That naewhere I can see!" They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, And drumly grew his e'e. The masts that were like the beaten gold, Bent not on the heaving seas; The sails that were o' the taffetie Fill'd not in the east land breeze. They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven hoof, And she wept right bitterlie. "O haud your tongue o' your weeping," he says: "O' your weeping now let me be; I will show you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy."