When they cam to the fair Dodhead,
They were a wellcum sight to see!
For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,
Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
And he has paid the rescue shot,
Baith wi’ goud, and white monie;
And at the burial o’ Willie Scott,
I wot was mony a weeping e’e.
THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.)
“Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,” she says,
“And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.
“Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest’s awa the last night.”—
He’s mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.
Lord William lookit o’er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,
And there be spy’d her seven brethren bold,
Come riding o’er the lee.
“Light down, light down, Lady Marg’ret,” he said,
“And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brothers bold,
And your father I make a stand.”—
She held his steed in her milk white hand,
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,
And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.