19
Quoth the gypsies, We’re fifteen weel-made men,
Tho the maist o us be ill bred ay,
Yet it wad be a pity we should a’ hang for ane,
Wha fashed himself wi your fair lady.
20
Quoth the lady, My lord, forgive them a’,
For they nae ill eer did ye,
And gie ten guineas to the chief, Jockie Faw,
For he is a worthy laddie.