There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy,
Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
To James, at Stirling, let us go,
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favor free,[290]
I plight mine honor, oath, and word,
That, to thy native strengths[291] restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,