15 ‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup? How can I loup to thee? When the blood is boiling in my body, And my feet burnin frae me?’ * * * * * * 16 ‘If I was swift as any swallow, And then had wings to fly, I could fly on to fause Frendraught And cry vengeance till I die.’ * * * * * C From a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson: “procured in the parish of Forgue by A. Scott; communicated to me by Mr John Stuart, Aberdeen, 11 October, 1832.” 1 It was in October the woe began— It lasts for now and aye,— The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught, Lord John and Rothiemay. 2 When they were in their saddles set, And ready to ride away, The lady sat down on her bare knees, Beseeching them to stay. 3 ‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd, Well straiket wi a wan; And if that winna please you well, I’ll heap it wi my han.’ 4 Then out it spake the gude Lord John, And said to Rothiemay, ‘It is a woman that we’re come o, And a woman we’ll obey.’ 5 When a’ man was well drunken, And a’ man bound for bed, The doors were lockd, the windows shut, And the keys were casten by. 6 When a’ man was well drunken, And a’ man bound for sleep, The dowy reek began to rise, And the joists began to crack. 7 He’s deen him to the wire-window, And ruefu strack and dang; But they would neither bow nor brack, The staunchions were so strang. 8 He’s deen him back and back again, And back to Rothiemay; Says, Waken, waken, brother dear! Waken, Rothiemay! 9 ‘Come let us praise the Lord our God, The fiftieth psalm and three; For the reek and smoke are us about, And there’s fause treason tee. 10 ‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught! As ye walk on the green:’ ‘The keys are in the deep draw-well, The doors were lockt the streen.’ 11 ‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught! An ill death may you die! For think na ye this a sad torment Your own flesh for to burn?’ 12 George Chalmers was a bonny boy; He leapt the stanks so deep, And he is on to Rothiemay, His master for to help. 13 Colin Irving was a bonny boy, And leapt the stanks so deep: ‘Come down, come down, my master dear! In my arms I’ll thee kep.’ 14 ‘Come down? come down? how can I come? How can I come to thee? My flesh is burning me about, And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’ 15 He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd, And threw it oer the wa: ‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor, Bid them pray for our souls a’.’ 16 He’s taen the rings off his fingers, And threw them oer the wa; Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear, From me she’ll na get more.