30.
‘Gin you shoud kill him Fa’se Footrage,
There is nae man durst you blame;
For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
And she dares no take you hame.’
31.
The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawk,
Says, ‘What may a’ this mean?’
‘My boy, you are King Honor’s son,
And your mother’s our lawful queen.’