Robene on his wayis went, 65 As licht as leif of tr['e]; Makyne murnit in her intent, And trowd him nevir to s['e]. Robene brayd attour the bent; Than Makyne cryit on hie, 70 "Now ma thow sing, for I am schent! Quhat alis lufe with me?" Makyne went hame withouttin faill, Full werry eftir cowth weip: Than Robene in a ful fair daill 75 Assemblit all his scheip. Be that sum parte of Makyne's ail Out throw his hairt cowd creip; He followit hir fast thair till assail, And till her tuke gude keep. 80 "Abyd, abyd, thou fair Makyne, A word for ony thing; For all my luve it sall be thyne, Withouttin departing. All haill! thy harte for till haif myne, 85 Is all my cuvating; My scheip to morn, quhill houris nyne, Will neid of no keping." "Robene, thou hes hard soung and say, In gestis and storeis auld, 90 _The man that will not quhen he may, Sall haif nocht quhen he wald._ I pray to Jesu every day, Mot eik thair cairis cauld, That first preissis with th['e] to play, 95 Be firth, forrest, or fawld." "Makyne, the nicht is soft and dry, The wedder is warme and fair, And the grene woud rycht neir us by To walk attour all quhair: 100 Thair ma na janglour us espy, That is to lufe contrair; Thairin, Makyne, bath ye and I, Unsene we ma repair." "Robene, that warld is all away, 105 And quyt brocht till ane end, And nevir again thereto, perfay, Sall it be as thou wend; For of my pane thou maide it play, And all in vane I spend: 110 As thou hes done, sa sall I say, Murne on, I think to mend." "Makyne, the howp of all my heill, My hairt on th['e] is sett, And evir mair to th['e] be leill, 115 Quhile I may leif but lett; Nevir to faill, as utheris faill, Quhat grace that evir I gett." "Robene, with th['e] I will not deill; Adew, for thus we mett." 120 Makyne went hame blyth anewche, Attoure the holtis hair; Robene murnit, and Makyne lewche; Scho sang, he sichit sair: And so left him, bayth wo and wreuch, 125 In dolour and in cair, Kepand his hird under a huche, Amang the holtis hair. APPENDIX. LORD BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE. See p. 1. _From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 260. Young Beichan was in London born, He was a man of hie degree; He past thro' monie kingdoms great, Until he cam unto Grand Turkie.