  ILet never a man a wooing wend That lacketh thingis three; A routh And fu’ o’ courtesye. IIAs this I speak of King Henry, For he lay burd-alone An’ he’s doen him to a jelly Was seven mile frae a town. IIIHe’s chased the deer down him before, An’ the roe down by the den, Till the fattest buck in a’ the flock King Henry he has slain. IVO he has doen him to his ha’ To make him bierly An’ in it came a griesly ghost Steed stappin’ i’ the fleer VHer head hat Her middle ye weel mot He’s thrown to her his gay mantle, Says, ‘Lady, hap VIHer teeth were a’ like teather stakes Her nose like club or mell An’ I ken naething she ’pear’d to be But the fiend that wons VII‘Some meat, some meat, ye King Henry, Some meat ye gie to me!’— ‘An’ what meat’s in this house, ladye, That ye’re not welcome tae?’— ‘O ye’se gae And serve him up to me.’ VIIIO whan he slew his berry-brown steed, Wow but his heart was sair! She ate him a’ up, skin an’ bane, Left naething but hide an’ hair. IX‘Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry, Mair meat ye gie to me!’— ‘An’ what meat’s in this house, ladye, That ye’re not welcome tae?’— ‘O do ye slay your good grey-hounds An’ bring them a’ to me.’ XO whan he slew his good grey-hounds, Wow but his heart was sair! She ate them a’ up, skin an’ bane, Left naething but hide an’ hair. XI‘Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry, Mair meat ye gie to me!’— ‘An’ what meat’s in this house, ladye, That ye’re not welcome tae?’— ‘O do ye kill your gay goss-hawks An’ bring them a’ to me.’ XIIO whan he fell’d his gay goss-hawks, Wow but his heart was sair! She’s ate them a’ up, skin an’ bane, Left naethin’ but feathers bare. XIII‘Some drink, some drink, now, King Henry, Some drink ye bring to me!’— ‘O what drink’s in this house, ladye, That ye’re not welcome tae?’— ‘O ye sew up your horse’s hide, An’ bring in drink to me.’ XIVO he’s sew’d up the bluidy hide, A puncheon o’ wine put in; She’s drunk it a’ up at a waught Left na ae drap ahin’ XV‘A bed, a bed, now King Henry, A bed ye’se mak’ to me!’— ‘An’ what’s the bed in this house, ladye, That ye’re not welcome tae?’— An’ mak’ a bed to me.’ XVISyne pu’d he has the heather green, An’ made to her a bed, An’ up has he ta’en his gay mantle, An’ o’er it he has spread. XVII‘Tak’ off your claiths now, King Henry, An’ lie down by my side!’— ‘O God forbid,’ says King Henry, ‘That ever the like betide; That ever a fiend that wons in |
|
