Classic Poem

. . . . .
. . . . .
For wha ere had a lealer luve
Than Broun Edom the smith?

His studie was o the beaten gowd,
His hammer o the pith;
His cords waur o the gude green silk,
That blew his bellows with.

It fell out ance upon a time
Broun Edom he thoucht lang,
That he wald gae to see his luve,
By the le lieht o the mune.