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48 |
JOHNIE ARMSTEANG. |
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" Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my King! « And a brave gift I'll gie to thee—
All betwene heir and Newcastle town Sail pay their yeirly rent to thee."
" Away, away, thou traytor Strang !
Out o' my sicht sune mayst thou be! ro
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I'll not begin with thee."
" Ye lied, ye lied, now, King," he says, " Althocht a king and prince ye be !
For I luid naithing in all my lyfe, n
I dare well say it, but honesty—
" But a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bonny dogs to kill a deir ; But Ingland suld haif found me meil and malt,
Gif I had livd this hundred yeir ! so
" Scho suld haif found me meil and malt, And beif and mutton in all plentie ;
But neir a Scots wyfe could haif said, That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.
" To seik het water beneth cauld yce, &
Surely it is a great folie; I haif asked grace at a graceles face,
But there is nane for my men and me ! |
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