[16. King Henry]
I
Let never a man a wooing wend
That lacketh thingis three;
A routh[140] o’ gold, an open heart
And fu’ o’ courtesye.
II
As this I speak of King Henry,
For he lay burd-alone[141];
An’ he’s doen him to a jelly[142] hunt’s ha’
Was seven mile frae a town.
III
He’s chased the deer down him before,
An’ the roe down by the den,
Till the fattest buck in a’ the flock
King Henry he has slain.
IV
O he has doen him to his ha’
To make him bierly[143] cheer;
An’ in it came a griesly ghost
Steed stappin’ i’ the fleer[144].