Never to fail as uthers feill,
Quhat grace so eir I get."
"Robin, with thee I will not deill;
Adieu, for this we met."
Makyne went hameward blyth enough,
Outowre the holtis hair;
Pure Robin murnd, and Makyne laugh
Scho sang, and he sicht sair:
And so left him hayth wo and wreuch,
In dolor and in care,
Keipand his herd under a heuch,
Among the rushy gair.