3
And here she sends thee a silken scarf
Bedew’d wi’ mony a tear,
And bids thee sometimes think on her
Wha loved thee sae dear.
And here she sends thee a ring of gold,
The last boon thou mayst have,
And bids thee wear it for her sake
When she is in her grave.
For ah her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soon must she be;
Sith her father hath chose her a new love
And forbade her to think of thee.
Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north country,
And within three days she must him wed
Or he vows he will her slay.
Now hie thee back thou little foot page
And greet thy lady frae me,
And tell her that I, her own true love,
Will die or set her free.
Now hie thee back thou little foot page
And let thy fair lady know,
This night will I be at thy bower-window,
Betide me weal or woe.
The boy he tripped, the boy he ran,
He neither stint nor staved,
Until he came to fair Emmeline’s bower,
When kneeling down he said:—
