"Gin ye look pale and lean!
"O have ye tint, at tournament,
"Your sword, or yet your spear?
"Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
"Whom you may not win near?"
"I have not tint, at tournament,
"My sword, nor yet my spear;
"But sair I mourn for my true love,
"Wi' mony a bitter tear.
"But weel's me on ye, my gay goss hawk,