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Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say, I was a fautor.
Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refus’d her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly us’d her.
He clawd her wi’ the rippling-kame,
And blae and bluidy bruis’d her;
When sie a husband was frae hame,
What wife but wad excus’d her?
I dighted ay her een sae blue,
And bann’d the cruel randy;
And weel I wat, her willing mou
Was e’n like sugarcandy.
At gloanin-shot it was I wat,
I lighted on the Monday;
But I cam thro’ the Tiseday’s dew,
To wanton Willie’s brandy.
The fair young Knight.
At the Baron of Mowbray’s gate was seen
A page with a courser black;
There came out a knight of noble mein,
And he leapt on the eourses back.
