A mair better lord I’ll get for thee.’
5
‘Na mair o this, my father dear,
And of your folly let abee;
For I wad na gie ae look o my lord’s face
For aw the lords in the haill cuntree.
6
‘But I’ll cast aff my robes o red,
And I’ll put on my robes o blue,
And I will travel to some other land,