‘These four-and-twenty mills complete Sall gang for thee thro’ a’ the yeir; And as mickle of gude reid wheit, As a’ thair happers[550] dow to bear.’-- XIV ‘Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out o’ my sight soon mayst thou be! I grantit never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin wi’ thee.’-- XV ‘Grant me my life, my liege, my King! And a great great gift I’ll gie to thee: Bauld four-and-twenty sisters’ sons, Sall for thee fetch, tho’ a’ should flee!’-- XVI ‘Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out o’ my sight soon mayst thou be! I grantit never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin wi’ thee.’-- XVII ‘Grant me my life, my liege, my King! And a brave gift I’ll gie to thee: All between heir and Newcastle town Sall pay their yeirly rent to thee.’-- XVIII ‘Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out o’ my sight soon mayst thou be! I grantit never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll not begin wi’ thee.’-- XIX ‘Ye lied, ye lied, now, King,’ he says, ‘Altho’ a King and Prince ye be! For I’ve luved naething in my life, I weel dare say it, but honesty: XX ‘Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bonny dogs to kill a deir; But England suld have found me meal and mault, Gif I had lived this hundred yeir! XXI ‘She suld have found me meal and mault, And beef and mutton in a’ plentie; But never a Scots wyfe could have said That e’er I skaith’d[551] her a puir flee. XXII ‘To seik het water beneith cauld ice, Surely it is a greit folie-- I have asked grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me! XXIII ‘But had I kenn’d ere I cam’ frae hame, How thou unkind wadst been to me! I wad have keepit the Border side, In spite of all thy force and thee. XXIV ‘Wist England’s King that I was ta’en, O gin a blythe man he wad be! For anes I slew his sister’s son, And on his breist bane brak a trie.’ XXV John wore a girdle about his middle, Imbroider’d owre wi’ burning gold, Bespangled wi’ the same metal, Maist beautiful was to behold. XXVI There hung nine targats[552] at Johnie’s hat, And ilk ane worth three hundred pound-- ‘What wants that knave that a King suld have, But the sword of honour and the crown?’ XXVII ‘O where got thou these targats, Johnie, That blink sae brawlie[553] abune thy brie[554]?’-- ‘I gat them in the field fechting, Where, cruel King, thou durst not be. XXVIII ‘Had I my horse, and harness gude, And riding as I wont to be, It suld have been tauld this hundred yeir, The meeting of my King and me! XXIX