Then up spak the bride's father, And an angry man was he; "Whaever sits by my dochter the day, Ye better awa' wad be." _His leave, &c._ "It's I have intill Paris been, 45 And well my drift can spell; And ay, whatever I have to say, I tell it best my sell." _His leave, &c._ "Sooth thou hast intill Paris lear'd A worthless drift to spell, 50 And ay, whatever thou hast to say, A rogue's tale thou must tell." _His leave, &c._ Ben stept he, young Child Dyr[e'], Nor reck'd he wha might chide; And he has ta'en a chair in hand, 55 And set him by the bride. _His leave, &c._ 'Twas lang i' the night; the bride-folk Ilk ane look'd for his bed; And young Child Dyr[e'] amang the lave Speer'd whare he should be laid. 60 _His leave, &c._ "Without, afore the stair steps, Or laigh on the cawsway stane, And there may lye Sir Dyr[e'], For ither bed we've nane." _His leave, &c._ 'Twas ate intill the evening; 65 The bride to bed maun ga; And out went he, Child Dyring, To rouse his menyie a'. _His leave, &c._ "Now busk and d'on your harnass, But and your brynies blae, 70 And boldly to the bride-bower Full merrily we'll gae." _His leave, &c._ Sae follow'd they to the bride-bower That bride sae young and bright, And forward stept Child Dyr[e'], 75 And quenched the marriage light. _His leave, &c._ The cresset they've lit up again, But and the taper clear, And followed to the bride-bower That bride without a peer. 80 _His leave, &c._ * * * * * * And up Child Dyr[e'] snatch'd the bride, All in his mantle blae, And swung her all so lightly Upon his ambler gray. _His leave, &c._ They lock'd the bower, they lit the torch, 85 'Twas hurry-scurry a', While merrily ay the lovers gay Rode roundly to the shaw. _His leave, &c._ In Rosen-wood they turn'd about To pray their bridal prayer; 90 "Good night and joy, Sir Magnus! For us ye'll see nae mair." _His leave, &c._ Sae rode he to the green wood, And o'er the meadow green, Till he came to his mither's bower, 95 Ere folks to bed were gane. _His leave, &c._