XVI. the Laird of Woodhouselie

Shyning was the painted ha Wi gladsum torches bricht; Full twenty gowden dames sat there, And ilkane by a knicht: Wi music cheir, To please the eir, Whan bewtie pleasd the sicht.

Wi cunning skill his gentle meid To chant, or warlike fame, Ilk damsel to the minstrels gied Some favorit chieftan's name: "Sing Salton's praise," The lady says— In suith she was to blame.

'By my renown ye wrang me sair,' Quoth hautie Woodhouselie, 'To praise that youth o sma report, 'And never deim on me: 'When ilka dame 'Her fere cold name, 'In a this companie.'

The morn she to her nourice yeed; "O meikle do I feir, "My lord will slay me, sin yestrene "I prais'd my Salton deir! "I'll hae nae ease, "Till Hevin it please, "That I lye on my beir."

'Mair wold I lay him on his beir,' The craftie nourice said; 'My saw gin ye will heid but anes 'That sall nae be delaid.' "O nourice say, "And, by my fay, "Ye sall be weil appaid."

'Take ye this drap o deidly drug 'And put it in his cup, 'When ye gang ot the gladsum ha, 'And sit ye doun to sup: 'Whan he has gied 'To bed bot dreid, 'He'll never mair rise up.'

And she has tane the deidly drug And pat it in his cup, Whan they gaed to the gladsum ha, And sat them doun to sup: And wi ill speid To bed he gied, And never mair raise up.

The word came to his father auld Neist day by hour of dyne, That Woodhouselie had died yestrene, And his dame had held the wyne. Quoth he "I vow "By Mary now, "She sall meit sure propine."

Syne he has flown to our gude king. And at his feet him layne; 'O Justice! Justice! royal liege, 'My worthy son is slayne. 'His lady's feid 'Has wrocht the deid, 'Let her receive the paine.'

Sair muvit was our worthy king, And an angry man was he; 'Gar bind her to the deidly stake, 'And birn her on the lie: 'That after her 'Na bluidy fere 'Her reckless lord may slee.'

"O wae be to ye, nourice, "An ill dethe may ye drie! "For ye prepar'd the deidly drug "That gard my deiry die: "May a the paine "That I darraine "In ill time, licht on thee!

"O bring to me my goun o black, "My mantel, and my pall; "And gie five merks to the friars gray "To pray for my poor saul: "And ilka dame, "O gentle name, "Bewar o my sair fall."