He tooke his boate at the Lough Leven,
For to sayle now over the sea,
And he hath cast up a silver wand,
Says, ‘Fare thou well, my good ladye!’
The ladye looked owre her left sholder;
In a dead swoone there down fell she.
XXXVIII
‘Goe backe againe, Douglas!’ he sayd,
‘And I will goe in thy companye;
For sudden sicknesse yonder lady has tane,
And ever, alas, she will but dye!
XXXIX
‘If ought come to yonder ladye but good,
Then blamèd sore that I shall bee,
Because a banish’d man I am,
And driven out of my owne countrye.’—
XL
‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes,
‘And all such talking let a-bee;
There’s ladyes enow left in Lough Leven
For to cheere yonder gay ladye.’
XLI
‘An you will not goe your selfe, my lord,
You will lett my chamberlaine go with mee;
We shall now take our boate againe,
And soone wee shall overtake thee.’—