XXXVIII
Then out and spak’ the King again,
Says, ‘Bonny boy, tell to me
Who lives into yon bigly bow’r,
Stands by yon green oak-tree?’
XXXIX
‘O pardon me,’ says Sweet Willy,
‘My liege, I daurna tell;
And I pray you go no near that bow’r,
For fear they do you fell[399].’—
XL
‘O haud your tongue, my bonny boy.
For I winna be said nay;
But I will gang that bow’r within,
Betide me weal or wae.’
XLI
They’ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,
And saftly enter’d in;
And then they saw her, Rose the Red,
Nursing her bonny young son.
XLII
‘Now, by the rood,’ the King could say,
‘This is a comely sight;
I trow, instead of a forrester,
This is a lady bright!’