XXXIII
O they have hunted in good green-wood
The back but and the rae.
And they’ve drawn near Brown Robin’s bow’r
About the close of day.
XXXIV
Then out it spak’ the King in haste,
Says, ‘Arthur, look an’ see
Gin that be no your little foot-page
That leans against yon tree?’
XXXV
Bold Arthur took his bugle-horn,
And blew a blast sae shrill,
Sweet Willy started at the sound
And ran him quickly till.
XXXVI
‘O wanted ye your meat, Willy?
Or wanted ye your fee?
Or get ye ever an angry word,
That ye ran awa’ frae me?’—
XXXVII
‘I wanted nought, my master dear;
To me ye aye was good;
I came but to see my ae brither
That wons[398] in this green-wood.’