Will ye not sink with sin?
For first your husband killed my father,
And now you burn his son.’
O then out spoke her, Lady Frendraught,
And loudly did she cry—
‘It were great pity for good Lord John,
But none for Rothiemay.
But the keys are casten in the deep draw well,
Ye cannot get away.’
While he stood in this dreadful plight,