Qnhat weywerde elfin thynge is thaten boie, That hyngethe still upon myne gaire, as doeth My synne of harte? And quhome rychte loth; I lofe With not les hauckerynge. His locent eyne, And his tungis maiter comethe on myne sense Lyke a remembourance; or lyke ane dreime That had delytis in it. Quhen I wolde say "Begone;" lo then my tung mistakethe quyte, Or fanceyinge not the terme, it sayethe "Come hidder, Come hidder, crabbed boie, unto myne syde." _Old Play._ That evening, after the departure of the noble and distressed Musgrave, Douglas was sitting all alone musing in a secret apartment of the pavilion, when he heard a gentle tap at the door. "Who's there?" inquired he surlily: "It is I, my lor'," said a petulant treble voice without. "Aha! my excellent nondescript little fellow, Colin Roy, is it you? Why, you may come in." Colin entered dressed in a most elegant and whimsical livery, and, forgetting himself, made the Douglas two or three graceful courtesies instead of bows. "Aye, hem," said he, "that's very well for the page of a princess. I suppose you have been studying the graces from your accomplished mistress? But where have you been all this while? I have felt the loss of you from my hand grievously." "I have been waiting on my royal mistress, my lor', informing her of all that is going on at the siege, and of your good fortune in the late captures you have made, wherein she rejoices exceedingly, and wishes you all good fortune and forward success; and, in token of kind remembrance, she sends you this heart of ruby set in gold and diamonds,--a gem that befits your lordship well to wear. And many more matters she has given me in charge, my lor'." Douglas kissed the locket, and put it in his bosom, and then uttered abundance of the extravagant bombast peculiar to that age. He called her his guardian angel, his altar of incense, and the saint of his devotion, the buckler of his arm, the sword in his hand, and the jewel of his heart. "Do you think, Colin," added he, "that ever there was a maiden born like this royal lady of my love?" "Why, my lor', I am not much skilled in these matters, but I believe the wench, my mistress, is well enough;--that is, she is well formed. And yet she is but so so." "How dare you, you piece of unparalleled impudence, talk of your royal mistress in that strain? Or where did you ever see a form or features so elegant, and so bewitchingly lovely?"