20 'The stockings they are Gib, my man's,
They came first to my hand,
And this is Gib, my man's shoon,
At my bed-feet they stand;
I've reavelld a' my yellow hair
Coming against the wind.'
21 He's taen the harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he cam to his master,
As fast as he could gang.
22 'Won up, won up, my good master,
I fear ye sleep oer lang;
There's nae a cock in a' the land
But has wappit his wings and crawn.'
23 Glenkindie 's tane his harp in hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And he has reachd the lady's bower
Afore that eer he blan.
24 When he cam to the lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin:
'O wha is that at my bower-door,
That opens na and comes in?'
'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,
And in I canna win.'
* * * * *
25 'Forbid it, forbid it,' says that lady,
'That ever sic shame betide,
That I should first be a wild loon's lass,
And than a young knight's bride.'
26 He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And he is hame to Gib, his man,
As fast as he could gang.
27 'Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Till I pay you your fee;
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Weel payit sall ye be.'
28 And he has taen him Gib, his man,
And he has hangd him hie,
And he's hangit him oer his ain yate,
As high as high could be.