Wi’ the blessing of thy gay Ladye?
I’se make thee sheriff of Ettrick Forest,
Surely while upward grows the tree;
If you be not traitor to the King,
Forfaulted sall thou never be.”
“But, Prince, what sall come o’ my men?
When I gae back, traitor they’ll ca’ me.
I had rather lose my life and land,
Ere my merrymen rebuked me.”
“Will your merrymen amend their lives,