“For young Willie Scott his life;
And throw not by the chance, your Meg
Has to become a wife.”
Sir Gideon rubbed his hands in glee,
“I grant it for your sake;
But if he then refuse your hand,
He shall his own way take.”
Much wondered the Laird o’ Oakwood Tower,
As fell the evening gloom,
They did not hang him in the morn,