7 'And here it is a holland smock,
Her own hand sewed the sleeve;
Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,
Ask not the baron's leave.'
8 'Since I must run this errand for you,
So sore against my will,
I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true,
It shall be done for ill.'
9 For he did not ask the porter's leave,
Tho he stood at the gate,
But straight he ran to the big hall,
Where great folk sat at meat.
10 'Good hallow, gentle sir and dame,
My errand canna wait;
Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice,
Before it be too late.
11 'And here it is a gay manteel,
It's a' goud but the hem;
Ye must come speak to Child Morice,
Bring nae body but your lane.
12 'And here it is a holland smock,
Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;
You must come speak to Chield Morice,
Ask not the baron's leave.'
13 O aye she stamped wi her foot,
And winked wi her ee,
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wad na be.
14 'It's surely to my bouir-woman,
It canna be to me:'
'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady,
And I trow that thou art she.'
15 Out then spak the wylie nurse,
Wi the bairn just on her knee:
'If this be come fra Chield Morice,
It's dear welcome to me.'
16 'Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse,
Sae loud's I hear thee lie;
I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady,
And I trow thou binna she.'