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THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
v 'Light down, light down, Lady Margret,' he said,
' And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I mak' a stand.'
O, there she stood, and bitter she stood,
And never did shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
And her father, who lov'd her so dear.
' O hold your hand, Lord William ! ' she said, ' For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
True lovers I can get many an ane, But a father I can never get mair.'
O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the holland sae fine, And aye she dighted her father's wounds,
That were redder than the wine.
' O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret,' he said,
' O whether will ye gang or bide ?' 'I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William,' she said,
' For ye've left me no other guide.'
He 's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side;
And slowly they baith rade away.
dighted] dressed. 1225 G !6i