Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face,
He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne;
He rode away, a right round pace,
And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn.
The Lothian Edge they were not o'er,
When they heard bugles bauldly ring,
And, hunting over Middleton Moor,
They met, I ween, our noble king.
When Willie look'd upon our king,
I wot a frightened man was he!
But ever auld Durie was startled more,
For tyning of his dignitie.
The king he cross'd himself, I wis,
When as the pair came riding bye—
"An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown,
"I think, were never seen with eye!"
Willie has hied to the tower of Græme,
He took auld Durie on his back,
He shot him down to the dungeon deep,
Which garr'd his auld banes gie mony a crack.
For nineteen days, and nineteen nights,
Of sun, or moon, or midnight stern,
Auld Durie never saw a blink,
The lodging was sae dark and dern.
He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross
Had fang'd him in their nets sae fast;
Or that the gypsies' glamour'd gang,
Had lair'd[35] his learning at the last.
"Hey! Batty, lad! far yaud! far yaud!"[36]
These were the morning sounds heard he;
And "ever alack!" auld Durie cried,
"The deil is hounding his tykes on me!"
And whiles a voice on Baudrons cried,
With sound uncouth, and sharp, and hie;
"I have tar-barrell'd mony a witch,
"But now, I think, they'll clear scores wi' me!"
The king has caused a bill be wrote,
And he has set it on the Tron,—
"He that will bring Lord Durie back,
"Shall have five hundred merks and one."