He hath vow'd to cast thy castell down,
And mak a widowe o' thy gaye ladye;
"He'll hang thy merryemen, payr by payr,
In ony frith where he may them finde."
"Aye, by my troth!" the Outlaw said,
"Than wald I think me far behinde.
"E'er the king my feir countrie get,
This land that's nativest to me!
Mony o' his nobilis sall be cauld,
Their ladyes sall be right wearie."