Wrocht Scotland mickle wae;
And aye his sword tauld, to their cost,
He was their deadly fae.
High on a hill his castle stood,
With halls and towers a-hicht,
And guidly chambers fair to see,
Whare he lodged mony a knicht.
His dame, sae peerless ance and fair,
For chaste and beauty deemed,
Nae marrow had in a’ the land,