4 Whan they war at their supper set,
And merrily drinking wine,
This ladie has tane a sair sickness,
And til her bed has gane.
5 Young Redin he has followed her,
And a dowie man was he;
He fund his true-love in her bouer,
And the tear was in her ee.
6 Whan he was in her arms laid,
And gieing her kisses sweet,
Then out she's tane a little penknife,
And woundid him sae deep.
7 'O lang, lang is the winter nicht,
And slawly daws the day;
There is a slain knicht in my bouer,
And I wish he war away.'
8 Then up bespak her bouer-woman,
And she spak ae wi spite:
'An there be a slain knicht in your bouer,
It's yoursell that has the wyte.'
9 'O heal this deed on me, Meggy,
O heal this deed on me;
The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche,
They sall be sewed for thee.'
10 'O I hae heald on my mistress
A twalmonth and a day,
And I hae heald on my mistress
Mair than I can say.'
* * * * *
11 They've booted him, and they've spurred him,
As he was wont to ride,
A huntin-horn round his neck,
And a sharp sword by his side;
In the deepest place o Clyde's Water,
It's there they've made his bed.
12 Sine up bespak the wylie parrot,
As he sat on the tree:
'And hae ye killd him Young Redin,
Wha neer had love but thee?'