173,4–19.
‘Sic as ye gae sic ye sall hae,
Nae grace we shaw to thee can.’
‘Donald my man, wait till I fa,
And ye shall hae my brechan;
Ye’ll get my purse, thouch fou o gowd,
To tak me to Loch Lagan.’
201. Syne they tuke out his bleeding heart.
202. And set.
204. And shawd.