10 'O mith I tell you, Gib, my man, Gin I a man had slain?' 'O that ye micht, my gude master, Altho ye had slain ten.' 11 'Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man, My bidden for to dee; And but an ye wauken me in time, Ye sall be hangit hie. 12 'Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen, And wappit their wings sae wide, I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower, And streek me by her side.' 13 'Gae hame to your bed, my good master; Ye've waukit, I fear, oer lang; For I'll wauken you in as good time As ony cock i the land.' 14 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, Until he harpit his master asleep, Syne fast awa did gang. 15 And he is till that lady's bower, As fast as he could rin; When he cam till that lady's bower, He chappit at the chin. 16 'O wha is this,' says that lady, 'That opens nae and comes in?' 'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love, O open and lat me in!' 17 She kent he was nae gentle knicht That she had latten in, For neither when he gaed nor cam, Kist he her cheek or chin. 18 He neither kist her when he cam, Nor clappit her when he gaed, And in and at her bower window, The moon shone like the gleed. 19 'O ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, And riven is your sheen, And reaveld is your yellow hair, That I saw late yestreen.' 20 'The stockings they are Gib, my man's, They came first to my hand, And this is Gib, my man's shoon, At my bed-feet they stand; I've reavelld a' my yellow hair Coming against the wind.' 21 He's taen the harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, Until he cam to his master, As fast as he could gang. 22 'Won up, won up, my good master, I fear ye sleep oer lang; There's nae a cock in a' the land But has wappit his wings and crawn.' 23 Glenkindie 's tane his harp in hand, He harpit and he sang, And he has reachd the lady's bower Afore that eer he blan. 24 When he cam to the lady's bower, He chappit at the chin: 'O wha is that at my bower-door, That opens na and comes in?' 'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love, And in I canna win.' * * * * * * * 25 'Forbid it, forbid it,' says that lady, 'That ever sic shame betide, That I should first be a wild loon's lass, And than a young knight's bride.' 26 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, And he is hame to Gib, his man, As fast as he could gang. 27 'Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man, Till I pay you your fee; Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man, Weel payit sall ye be.'