* * * * * A Motherwell’s MS., p. 331, July 19, 1825, “from the recitation of Agnes Lile, Kilbarchan, a woman verging on fifty;” learned from her father, who died fourteen years before, at the age of eighty. 1 Our king has wrote a lang letter, And sealed it owre with gold; He sent it to my lord Dunwaters, To read it if he could. 2 He has not sent it with a boy, with a boy, Nor with anie Scotch lord; But he’s sent it with the noblest knight Eer Scotland could afford. 3 The very first line that my lord did read, He gave a smirkling smile; Before he had the half o ‘t read, The tears from his eyes did fall. 4 ‘Come saddle to me my horse,’ he said, ‘Come saddle to me with speed; For I must away to fair London town, For me was neer more need.’ 5 Out and spoke his lady gay, In child-bed where she lay: ‘I would have you make your will, my lord Dunwaters, Before you go away.’ 6 ‘I leave to yon, my eldest son, My houses and my land; I leave to you, my second son, Ten thousand pounds in hand. 7 ‘I leave to you, my lady gay— You are my wedded wife— I leave to you, the third of my estate; That’ll keep you in a lady’s life.’ 8 They had not rode a mile but one, Till his horse fell owre a stane: ‘It’s warning gude eneuch,’ my lord Dunwaters said, ‘Alive I’ll neer come hame.’ 9 When they came into fair London town, Into the courtiers’ hall, The lords and knichts in fair London town Did him a traitor call. 10 ‘A traitor! a traitor!’ says my lord, ‘A traitor! how can that be, An it was na for the keeping of five thousand men To fight for King Jamie? 11 ‘O all you lords and knichts in fair London town, Come out and see me die; O all you lords and knichts into fair London town, Be kind to my ladie. 12 ‘There’s fifty pounds in my richt pocket, Divide it to the poor; There’s other fifty pounds in my left pocket, Divide it from door to door.’ * * * * * B Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492, 1855; learned some forty five years before from an old gentleman, who, about 1773, got it by heart from an old washerwoman singing at her tub. 1 The king he wrote a love-letter, And he sealed it up with gold, And he sent it to Lord Derwentwater, For to read it if he could. 2 The first two lines that he did read, They made him for to smile; But the next two lines he looked upon Made the tears from his eyes to fall. 3 ‘Oh,’ then cried out his lady fair, As she in child-bed lay, ‘Make your will, make your will, Lord Derwentwater, Before that you go away.’