"Now I have bought my lady's life," He to the moor did call; 170 "Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue, And down he let her fall. Which when her gallant lord did see, His senses all did fail; Yet many sought to save his life, 175 But nothing could prevail. When as the moor did see him dead, Then did he laugh amain At them who for their gallant lord And lady did complain: 180 Quoth he, "I know you'll torture me, If that you can me get, But all your threats I do not fear, Nor yet regard one whit. "Wild horses shall my body tear, 185 I know it to be true, But I prevent you of that pain:" And down himself he threw. Too good a death for such a wretch, A villain void of fear! 190 And thus doth end as sad a tale As ever man did hear. BOOK IV. KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN. See p. 173. From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 6. There ance liv'd a king in fair Scotland, King Malcolm called by name; Whom ancient history gives record, For valour, worth, and fame. And it fell ance upon a day, 5 The king sat down to dine; And then he miss'd a favourite knight, Whose name was Sir Colvin. But out it speaks another knight, Ane o' Sir Colvin's kin; 10 "He's lyin' in bed, right sick in love, All for your daughter Jean." "O waes me," said the royal king, "I'm sorry for the same; She maun take bread and wine sae red, 15 Give it to Sir Colvin." Then gently did she bear the bread, Her page did carry the wine, And set a table at his bed;-- "Sir Colvin, rise and dine." 20 "O well love I the wine, lady, Come frae your lovely hand; But better love I your fair body, Than all fair Scotland's strand." "O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin, 25 Let all your folly be; My love must be by honour won, Or nane shall enjoy me. "But on the head o' Elrick's hill, Near by yon sharp hawthorn, 30 Where never a man with life e'er came, Sin our sweet Christ was born;-- "O ye'll gang there and walk a' night, And boldly blaw your horn; With honour that ye do return, 35 Ye'll marry me the morn." Then up it raise him, Sir Colvin, And dress'd in armour keen; And he is on to Elrick's hill, Without light of the meen. 40 At midnight mark the meen upstarts; The knight walk'd up and down; While loudest cracks o' thunder roar'd, Out ower the bent sae brown.