"That sings baith sad and sweet;
"O there's a bird within your bower,
"Keeps me frae my night's sleep."
They left the douking on the day,
And douked upon the night;
And, where that sackless knight lay slain,
The candles burned bright.
The deepest pot in a' the linn,
They fand Erl Richard in;
A grene turf tyed across his breast,