“Bring me my steed,” then cry’d the king,
“My bow and arrows keen;
I’ll ride mysel to good green wood,
An see what’s to be seen.”
“An’t please your grace,” said Bold Arthur,
“My liege, I’ll gang you wi,
An try to fin a little foot-page,
That’s strayd awa frae me.”
O they’ve hunted i the good green wood
The buck but an the rae,
An they drew near Brown Robin’s bowr,
About the close of day.
Then out it spake the king in hast,
Says, “Arthur look an see
Gin that be no your little foot-page
That leans against yon tree.”
Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,
An blew a blast sae shrill;
Sweet Willy started at the sound,
An ran him quickly till.
“O wanted ye your meat, Willy?
Or wanted ye your fee?
Or gat ye ever an angry word,
That ye ran awa frae me?”
“I wanted nought, my master dear;
To me ye ay was good;
I came but to see my ae brother,
That wons in this green wood.”
Then out it spake the king again,
Says, “Bonny boy, tell to me,
Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,
Stands by yon green oak tree?”
“Oh, pardon me,” says Sweet Willie,
“My liege, I dare no tell;
An I pray you go no near that bowr,
For fear they do you fell.”
“Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,
For I winna be said nay;
But I will gang that bowr within,
Betide me weal or wae.”