7
'My saddle is not set awry,
Nor carries me my steed owre high;
8
'But I am weary of my life,
Since I maun be Lord Bothwell's wife.'
9
He's blawn his horn sae sharp and shrill,
Up start the deer on evry hill.
10
He's blawn his horn sae lang and loud,
Up start the deer in gude green-wood.
11
His lady mother lookit owre the castle wa,
And she saw them riding ane and a'.
12
She's calld upon her maids by seven,
To mak his bed baith saft and even.
13
She's calld upon her cooks by nine,
To make their dinner fair and fine.
14
When day was gane, and night was come,
'What ails my love on me to frown?
15
'Or does the wind blow in your glove?
Or runs your mind on another love?'
16
'Nor blows the wind within my glove,
Nor runs my mind on another love;