"Both night and day, 'tis you I pray For to be on your guard, For many are the subtile wyles By which youth are ensnar'd." 40 When she had read the dreary dream, It vex'd her more and more, For Craignargat, of birth and state, Liv'd nigh unto the shore. But as in age her daughter wax'd, 45 Her beauty did excel All the ladies far and near That in that land did dwell. The Gordon, Hay, and brave Agnew, Three knights of high degree, 50 Unto the dame a-courting came, All for her fair beauty. Which of these men, they ask'd her then, That should her husband be; But scornfully she did reply, 55 "I'll wed none of the three." "Since it is so, where shall we go A match for thee to find, That art so fair and beautiful, That none can suit thy mind?" 60 With scorn and pride she answer made, "You'll ne'er choice one for me, Nor will I wed against my mind, For all their high degree." The brave Agnew, whose heart was true, 65 A solemn vow did make, Never to love a woman more All for that lady's sake. To counsel this lady was deaf, To judgement she was blind, 70 Which griev'd her tender parents dear, And troubled sore their mind. From the Isle of Man a courter came, And a false young man was he, With subtile heart and flatt'ring tongue, 75 To court this fair lady. This young man was a bold outlaw, A robber and a thief, But soon he gain'd this lady's heart, Which caused all their grief. 80 "O will you wed," her mother said, "A man you do not know, For to break your parents' heart, With shame but and with woe?" "Yes, I will go with him," she said, 85 "Either by land or sea; For he's the man I've pitchéd on My husband for to be." "O let her go," her father said, "For she shall have her will; 90 My curse and mallison she's got, For to pursue her still." "Your curse, father, I don't regard, Your blessing I'll ne'er crave; To the man I love I'll constant prove, 95 And never him deceive." On board with him fair Margaret's gone, In hopes his bride to be; But mark ye well, and I shall tell Of their sad destiny. 100 They had not sail'd a league but five, Till the storm began to rise; The swelling seas ran mountains high, And dismal were the skies.