And he is gone to his noble Lord,
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.
"Now nay, now nay, good James Swynard,
I may not believe that witch ladìe:
The Douglasses were ever true,
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.
"I have now in Lough-leven been
The most part of these years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.
"Therefore I'll to yon shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,
He ne'er shall find my promise light."
He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladìe:
Sayes, "It was all that I cold save,
In Harley woods where I cold bee."[9]
"And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestìe;
And farewell heart and farewell hand;
For never more I shall thee see."
The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.
Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, "Gentle lady, fare thee well!"
That lady fett a sigh soe deep,
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.
"Now let us goe back," Douglas, he sayd,
"A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe
If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee."
"Come on, come on, my lord," he sayes;
"Come on, come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladìe."
"If you'll not turne yourself," my lord,
"Let me goe with my chamberlaine;
We will but comfort that faire lady,
And wee will return to you againe."
"Come on, come on, my lord," he sayes,
"Come on, come on, and let her bee: