II

Says, ‘Baron of Brackley, are ye within?
There’s sharp swords at your yate will gar your blood spin.

III

‘Open the yate, Brackley, let us within,
Till on the green turf we gar your blood spin.’

IV

The lady rase up, to the window she went;
She heard the kye lowin’ o’er hill and o’er bent.

V

‘O rise up, John,’ she says, ‘turn back your kye;
They’re o’er the hills rinnin’, they’re skippin awye!’—

VI

‘Come to bed, Peggie, and let the kye rin:
For were I to gang out, I’d never get in.