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Lord Livingston and his fair dame In bed were sweetly laid.
The bed, the bed, where they lay in,
Was cover'd wi' the pa'; A covering o' the gude red gowd,
Lay nightly ower the twa.
So they lay there, till on the morn The sun shone on their feet;
Then up it raise him, Livingston, To draw to him a weed.
The first an' weed that he drew on,
Was o' the linen clear; The next an' weed that he drew on,
It was a weed o' weir.
The niest an' weed that he drew on,
Was gude iron and steel; Twa gloves o' plate, a gowden helmet,
Became that hind chiel weel.
Then out it speaks that lady gay,
A little forbye stood she; " Til dress mysell in men's array,
Gae to the fields for thee."
" O God forbid," said Livingston, " That e'er I dree the shame ;
My lady slain in plain fields,
And I coward knight at hame !"
He scarcely taavelled frae the town A mile but barely twa,