4 ‘Then here’s for thee, my lady fair, . . . . . . . A thousand pounds of beaten gold, To lead you a lady’s life.’ 5 . . . . . . . . . . his milk-white steed, The ring dropt from his little finger, And his nose it began to bleed. 6 He rode, and he rode, and he rode along, Till he came to Westminster Hall, Where all the lords of England’s court A traitor did him call. 7 ‘Oh, why am I a traitor?’ said he; ‘Indeed, I am no such thing; I have fought the battles valiantly Of James, our noble king.’ 8 O then stood up an old gray-headed man, With a pole-axe in his hand: ‘’Tis your head, ’tis your head, Lord Derwentwater, ’Tis your head that I demand.’ 9 . . . . . . . His eyes with weeping sore, He laid his head upon the block, And words spake never more. * * * * * C Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 225. 1 The king has written a broad letter, And seald it up with gold, And sent it to the lord of Derwentwater, To read it if he would. 2 He sent it with no boy, no boy, Nor yet with eer a slave, But he sent it with as good a knight As eer a king could have. 3 When he read the three first lines, He then began to smile; And when he read the three next lines The tears began to sile. * * * * * D Kinloch MSS, I, 323. 1 The king has written a braid letter, And seald it up wi gowd, And sent it to Lord Derntwater, To read it if he coud. 2 The first lines o ‘t that he read, A blythe, blythe man was he; But ere he had it half read through, The tear blinded his ee. 3 ‘Go saddle to me my milk-white horse, Go saddle it with speed; For I maun ride to Lun[n]on town, To answer for my head.’ 4 ‘Your will, your will, my lord Derntwater, Your will before ye go; For you will leave three dochters fair, And a wife to wail and woe.’ 5 ‘My will, my will, my lady Derntwater? Ye are my wedded wife; Be kind, be kind to my dochters dear, If I should lose my life.’ 6 He set his ae fit on the grund, The tither on the steed; The ring upon his finger burst, And his nose began to bleed. 7 He rode till he cam to Lunnon town, To a place they ca Whiteha; And a’ the lords o merry England A traitor him gan ca. 8 ‘A traitor! a traitor! O what means this? A traitor! what mean ye?’ ‘It’s a’ for the keeping o five hundred men To fecht for bonny Jamie.’ 9 Then up started a gray-headed man, Wi a braid axe in his hand: ‘Your life, your life, my lord Derntwater, Your life’s at my command.’