And mony was the feather-bed That fluttered on the faem, And mony was the gude lord’s son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A’ for the sake of their true loves, For them they’ll see na mair. O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi’ their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi’ their goud kaims in their hair, A’ waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they’ll see na mair. O forty miles off Aberdeen, ’Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet. BATTLE OF OTTERBOURNE (_Child_, vol. vi.) IT fell about the Lammas tide, When the muir-men win their hay, The doughty Douglas bound him to ride Into England, to drive a prey. He chose the Gordons and the Graemes, With them the Lindesays, light and gay; But the Jardines wald nor with him ride, And they rue it to this day. And he has burn’d the dales of Tyne, And part of Bambrough shire: And three good towers on Reidswire fells, He left them all on fire. And he march’d up to Newcastle, And rode it round about: “O wha’s the lord of this castle? Or wha’s the lady o’t?” But up spake proud Lord Percy then, And O but he spake hie! “I am the lord of this castle, My wife’s the lady gaye.” “If thou’rt the lord of this castle, Sae weel it pleases me! For, ere I cross the Border fells, The tane of us sall die.” He took a lang spear in his hand, Shod with the metal free, And for to meet the Douglas there, He rode right furiouslie. But O how pale his lady look’d, Frae aff the castle wa’, When down, before the Scottish spear, She saw proud Percy fa’. “Had we twa been upon the green, And never an eye to see, I wad hae had you, flesh and fell; But your sword sall gae wi’ mee.” “But gae ye up to Otterbourne, And wait there dayis three; And, if I come not ere three dayis end, A fause knight ca’ ye me.” “The Otterbourne’s a bonnie burn; ’Tis pleasant there to be; But there is nought at Otterbourne, To feed my men and me. “The deer rins wild on hill and dale, The birds fly wild from tree to tree; But there is neither bread nor kale, To feed my men and me. “Yet I will stay it Otterbourne, Where you shall welcome be; And, if ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I’ll ca’ thee.” “Thither will I come,” proud Percy said, “By the might of Our Ladye!”— “There will I bide thee,” said the Douglas, “My troth I plight to thee.”