Th’ harmonious strings oft murm’ring rang,
As o’er the heaths he hied.
In search was he of Hotspur fam’d.
With tidings from his dame,
His fair lady, the lovely Kate,
Since chronicled in fame.
She pin’d the day, she wept the night,
For her dear absent lord;
And days, and weeks, and months flew o’er,
Nor comfort could afford.