6 He ran, where the bridge was broken down He bent his bow and swam; He swam till he came to the good green turf, He up on his feet and ran. 7 He ran till he came at his uncle's hall; His uncle sat at his meat: 'Good mete, good mete, good uncle, I pray, O if you knew what I'd got to say, How little would you eat!' 8 'O is my castle broken down, Or is my tower won? Or is my gay lady brought o bed, Of a daughter or a son?' 9 'Your castle is not broken down, Your tower it is not won; Your gay lady is not brought to bed, Of a daughter or a son. 10 'But she has sent you a gay gold ring, With a posy round the rim, To know, if you have any love for her, You'll come to her burning.' 11 He called down his merry men all, By one, by two, by three; He mounted on his milk-white steed, To go to Margery. 12 They blew the fire, they kindled the fire, Till it did reach her head: 'O mother, mother, quench the fire! For I am nearly dead.' 13 She turned her head on her left shoulder, Saw her girdle hang on the tree: 'O God bless them that gave me that! They'll never give more to me.' 14 She turned her head on her right shoulder, Saw her lord come riding home: 'O quench the fire, my dear mother! For I am nearly gone.' 15 He mounted off his milk-white steed, And into the fire he ran, Thinking to save his gay ladye, But he had staid too long. H Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103. 1 There stands a stane in wan water, It's lang ere it grew green; Lady Maisry sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam. 2 Word's gane to her mother's kitchen, And to her father's ha, That Lady Maisry is big wi bairn-- And her true-love's far awa. 3 When her brother got word of this, Then fiercely looked he: 'Betide me life, betide me death, At Maisry's bower I'se be. 4 'Gae saddle to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the brown; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, To hae me to the town.' 5 When he came to Maisry's bower, He turnd him round about, And at a little shott-window, He saw her peeping out. 6 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free!' 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, my brother dear, What are your wills wi me?' 7 'What's come o a' your green claithing, Was ance for you too side? And what's become o your lang stays, Was ance for you too wide?' 8 'O he that made my claithing short, I hope he'll make them side; And he that made my stays narrow, I hope he'll make them wide.'