7 'What news, what news, my little page?
What news hae ye brought to me?'
'Bad news, bad news, my master dear,
The king's daughter maun die.
8 'Here is a shirt, O master dear,
Her ain hand sewd the sleeve;
She bad me run and tell ye this,
And ask nae person's leave.
9 'They have her in a prison strong,
And in a dungeon deep;
Her feet are in the fetters strong,
And they've left her to weep.
10 'Her feet are in the cold, cold iron,
Instead of beaten gold;
Her garters are of the cauld, cauld iron,
And O but they are cold!'
* * * * *
11 'A clerk, a clerk,' the king did cry,
'To cry the toucher-fee;'
'A priest, a priest,' Lord Johnnie cry'd,
'To join my love and me.
12 'I want none of your gold,' he said,
'Nor as little want I a fee;
But I do want your daughter dear,
My wedded wife to be.'
N
Buchan's Gleanings, p. 122.