Said—“Ladye dear,” and the salt, salt tear Cam’ rinnin’ doon his cheek, “I have sent the tokens of my love This many and many a week. “O didna ye get the rings, Ladye, The rings o’ the gowd sae fine? I wot that I have sent to thee Four score, four score and nine.” “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye. “Wow, they were flimsie things!” Said—“that chain o’ gowd, my doggie to howd, It is made o’ thae self-same rings.” “And didna ye get the locks, the locks, The locks o’ my ain black hair, Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box, Whilk I sent by the carrier?” “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye; “And I prithee send nae mair!” Said—“that cushion sae red, for my doggie’s head, It is stuffed wi’ thae locks o’ hair.” “And didna ye get the letter, Ladye, Tied wi’ a silken string, Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie, A message of love to bring?” “It cam’ to me frae the far countrie Wi’ its silken string and a’; But it wasna prepaid,” said that high-born maid, “Sae I gar’d them tak’ it awa’.” “O ever alack that ye sent it back, It was written sae clerkly and well! Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought, I must even say it mysel’.” Then up and spake the popinjay, Sae wisely counselled he. “Now say it in the proper way: Gae doon upon thy knee!” The lover he turned baith red and pale, Went doon upon his knee: “O Ladye, hear the waesome tale That must be told to thee! “For five lang years, and five lang years, I coorted thee by looks; By nods and winks, by smiles and tears, As I had read in books. “For ten lang years, O weary hours! I coorted thee by signs; By sending game, by sending flowers, By sending Valentines. “For five lang years, and five lang years, I have dwelt in the far countrie, Till that thy mind should be inclined Mair tenderly to me. “Now thirty years are gane and past, I am come frae a foreign land: I am come to tell thee my love at last— O Ladye, gie me thy hand!” The ladye she turned not pale nor red, But she smiled a pitiful smile: “Sic’ a coortin’ as yours, my man,” she said “Takes a lang and a weary while!” [Picture: And out and laughed the popinjay] And out and laughed the popinjay, A laugh of bitter scorn: “A coortin’ done in sic’ a way, It ought not to be borne!” Wi’ that the doggie barked aloud, And up and doon he ran, And tugged and strained his chain o’ gowd, All for to bite the man. “O hush thee, gentle popinjay! O hush thee, doggie dear! There is a word I fain wad say, It needeth he should hear!” Aye louder screamed that ladye fair To drown her doggie’s bark: Ever the lover shouted mair To make that ladye hark: