10
‘I’ll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids,
That prance and nicher at a speir,
With as mekle gude Inglis gilt
As four of their braid backs dow beir.’
11
‘Away, away, thou traytor strang!
Out o’ my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’