XXIII
She’s putten her hand in her pockèt
And gi’en the porter guineas three;
Says, ‘Take ye that, ye proud portèr,
And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’
XXIV
And she has ta’en her gay gold ring,
That with her love she brake so free;
Says, ‘Gie him that, ye proud portèr,
And bid the bridegroom speak with me.’
XXV
O when the porter came up the stair,
He’s kneelèd low upon his knee:
‘Won[330] up, won up, ye proud portèr,
And what makes a’ this courtesie?’—
XXVI
‘O I’ve been porter at your gates
I’m sure this thirty years and three,
But there is a lady stands thereat
The fairest I did ever see.’
XXVII
It’s out then spake the bride’s mother,
—Aye, and an angry woman was she—
‘Ye might have excepted our bonny bride,
And twa or three of our companie.’