I lay sick, and very sick,
And I was bad, and like to dee;
. . . . . . .
A friend o mine cam to visit me,
And Blackwood whisperd in my lord’s ear
That he was oure lang in chamber wi me.
2
‘O what need I dress up my head,
Nor what need I caim doun my hair,
Whan my gude lord has forsaken me,