“Hout!” says his mother, “go to the Butcher and bid him kill Coo.”

So off he went to the Butcher, and said—­

     “Butcher, kill the big, big Coo,
      She’ll gi’e us no more milk noo.”

But the Butcher wouldn’t kill the Coo without a silver penny, so back the Mannie went to the house.  “Mother,” says he, “Coo won’t hold still, stick won’t break, Butcher won’t kill without a silver penny, and wee, wee Mannie can’t milk big, big Coo.”

“Well,” said his mother, “go to the Coo and tell her there’s a weary, weary lady with long yellow hair weeping for a cup 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 she, “tell 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,