16
‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
17
‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a brave gift I’ll gie to thee;
All betwene heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay thair yeirly rent to thee.’