Then she has drawn for young Hunting The beer but and the wine, Till she got him as deadly drunk As ony unhallowed swine. 40 Then she's ta'en out a trusty brand, That hang below her gare; Then she's wounded him, young Hunting, A deep wound and a sair. Then out it speaks her comrade, 45 Being in the companie: "Alas! this deed that ye ha'e done, Will ruin baith you and me." "Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine, Heal well this deed on me; 50 The robes that were shapen for my bodie, They shall be sewed for thee." "Tho' I wou'd heal it never sae well, And never sae well," said she, "There is a God above us baith, 55 That can baith hear and see." They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride; A hunting-horn about his neck, A sharp sword by his side. 60 And they rode on, and farther on, All the lang summer's tide, Until they came to wan water, Where a' man ca's it Clyde. The deepest pot in Clyde's water,[L65] 65 There they flang him in,[L66] And put a turf on his breast bane, To had young Hunting down. O out it speaks a little wee bird, As she sat on the brier: 70 "Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry, And pay your maiden's hire." "O I will pay my maiden's hire, And hire I'll gi'e to thee; If ye'll conceal this fatal deed, 75 Ye's ha'e gowd for your fee." Then out it speaks a bonny bird, That flew aboon their head; "Keep well, keep well your green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid." 80 "O I'll keep well my green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid, Better than I'll do your flattering tongue, That flutters in your head. "Come down, come down, my bonny bird, 85 Light down upon my hand; For ae gowd feather that's in your wing, I wou'd gi'e a' my land." "How shall I come down, how can I come down, How shall I come down to thee? 90 The things ye said to young Hunting, The same ye're saying to me." But it fell out on that same day, The king was going to ride, And he call'd for him, young Hunting, 95 For to ride by his side. Then out it speaks the little young son, Sat on the nurse's knee, "It fears me sair," said that young babe, "He's in bower wi' yon ladie." 100 Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Katharine, And she sware by the thorn, That she saw not him, young Hunting, Sin' yesterday at morn.