Nor his horses scarcely batit,
Till the letters and the senes they came to his hand
That his lady was newly strickit.
26
‘O is she dead? or is she sick?
O woe’s me for my coming!
I’d rather a lost a’ the Bogs o the Geich
Or I’d lost my bonny Peggy Harboun.’
27
He took the table wi his foot,