D.
Kinloch MSS, I, 327.
1
'Sleepst thou or wakst thou, Lord Montgomerie,
Sleepst thou or wakst thou, I say?
Rise up, make a match for your eldest daughter,
For the youngest I carry away.'
2
'Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
Dress yourselves in the armour sae fine;
For it ne'er shall be said that a churlish knight
Eer married a daughter of mine.'
* * * * *
3
'Loup aff, loup aff, Lady Margaret,' he said,
'And hold my steed in your hand,
And I will go fight your seven brethren,
And your father, where they stand.'
4
Sometimes she gaed, sometimes she stood,
But never dropt a tear,
Until she saw her brethren all slain
And her father who lovd her so dear.
5
'Hold thy hand, sweet William,' she says,
'Thy blows are wondrous sore;
Sweethearts I may have many a one,
But a father I'll never have more.'
6
O she's taken her napkin frae her pocket,
Was made o the holland fine,
And ay as she dichted her father's bloody wounds,
They sprang as red as the wine.
7
'Two chooses, two chooses, Lady Margret,' he says,
'Two chooses I'll make thee;
Whether to go back to your mother again,
Or go along with me.'