“O is your saddle set awrye?
Or rides your steed for you owre high?
Or are you mourning, in your tide,
That you suld be Cospatrick’s bride?”
“I am not mourning, at this tide,
That I suld he Cospatrick’s bride;
But I am sorrowing in my mood,
That I suld leave my mother good.”
“But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
What is the custom of thy countrie?”
“The custom thereof, my dame,” he says,
“Will ill a gentle ladye please.
“Seven king’s daughters has our lord wedded,
And seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded;
But he’s cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,
And sent them mourning hame again.
“Yet, gin you’re sure that you’re a maid,
Ye may gae safely to his bed;
But gif o’ that ye be na sure,
Then hire some damsel o’ your bour.”
The ladye’s called her bour-maiden,
That waiting was unto her train.
“Five thousand marks I’ll gie to thee,
To sleep this night with my lord for me.”
When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,
And a’ men unto bed were gane,
Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
Into ae chamber they were laid.
“Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
And speak, my sword, that winna lie,
Is this a true maiden that lies by me?”
“It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
But not the maiden that it should be.”
O wrathfully he left the bed,
And wrathfully his claes on did;
And he has ta’en him through the ha’,
And on his mother he did ca’.