When in at the gate came Violentrie.
Says, "I wish you well, my lady fair,
It's time for us to sit to dine;
Come, serve me with the good white bread
And likewise with the claret wine.
"That Scots chieftain, our mortal foe,
Sae oft frae the field has made us flee,
Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give
That I his face could only see."
"Of that same gift would ye give me,