The lady came down the stair,
Wringing her hands;
"He has slain the Earl o' Murray,15
The flower o' Scotland."
But Huntly lap on his horse,
Rade to the king:
"Ye're welcome hame, Huntly,
And whare hae ye been?20
"Whare hae ye been?
And how hae ye sped?"
"I've killed the Earl o' Murray,
Dead in his bed."
"Foul fa' you, Huntly!25
And why did ye so?
You might have ta'en the Earl o' Murray
And saved his life too."
"Her bread it's to bake,
Her yill is to brew;30
My sister's a widow,
And sair do I rue.
"Her corn grows ripe,
Her meadows grow green,
But in bonny Dinnibristle35
I darena be seen."