Text "O 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’m wearied wi hunting and fain wad lie down.” “An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son? An wha met you there, my handsome young man?” “O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon, “For I’m wearied wi hunting and fain wad lie down.” “And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son? And what did she give you, my handsome young man?” “Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon, “For I’m wearied wi hunting and fain wad lie down.” “An wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal my son? And wha gat your leavins, my handsome young man?” “ My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon, “For I’m wearied wi hunting and fain wad lie down.” “And what becam of them, Lord Randal my son? And what becam of them, my handsome young man?” “ They stretched their legs out and died; mother, mak my bed soon, “For I’m wearied wi hunting and fain wad lie
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