XI
‘Ha, there’s a letter frae your love,
He says he sent you three;
He canna wait your luve langer,
But for your sake he’ll dee.
XII
‘He bids you write a letter to him;
He says he’s sent you five;
He canna wait your luve langer,
Tho’ you’re the fairest alive.’—
XIII
‘Ye bid him bake his bridal-bread,
And brew his bridal-ale,
An’ I’ll meet him in fair Scotland
Lang, lang or it be stale.’
XIV
She’s doen her to her father dear
Fa’n low down on her knee:
‘A boon, a boon, my father dear
I pray you, grant it me!’—
XV
‘Ask on, ask on, my daughter,
An’ granted it sall be;
Except ae squire in fair Scotland,
An’ him you sall never see.’—