Lady, I never loved witchcraft,

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Never dealt in privy wyle;

But evermore held the high-waye

Of truth and honour, free from guile.

If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,

Yet send your chamberlaine with mee; Let me but speak three words with him,

And he shall come again to thee,

James Swynard with that lady went,

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She showed him through the weme of her ring How many English lords there were

Waiting for his master and him.

And who walkes yonder, my good lady,

So royallyè on yonder greene?

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O yonder is the lord Hunsdèn *:

Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene.

1,20

And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside ?
That is Sir William Drury †, shee sayd,
A keene captàine hee is and tryde.

How many miles is itt, madame,

Betwixt yond English lords and mee?

*The lord warden of the East marches.
+ Governor of Berwick.
X 2

125

Marry

Marry it is thrice fifty miles,
To saile to them upon the sea.

I never was on English ground,

Ne never sawe it with mine eye, But as my book it sheweth mee,

And through my ring I may descrye.

My mother shee was a witch ladye,

130

And of her skille she learned mee; She wold let me see out of Lough-leven What they did in London citìe.

135

But who is yond, thou lady faire,

That looketh with sic an austerne face?

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Yonder is Sir John Foster*, quoth shee,

Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace.

He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept; in his heart he was full of woe:

And he is gone to his noble Lord,

Those sorrowful tidings him to show.

Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd,
I may not believe that witch ladìe :

145

The Douglasses were ever true,

And they can ne'er prove false to mee.

* Warden of the Middle-march. '

I have now in Lough-leven been

The most part of these
years three,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,

He ne'er shall find my promise light.

He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladie:
Sayes, It was all that I cold save,

In Harley woods where I cold bee*.

And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord,
Then farewell truth and honestìe;
And farewell heart and farewell hand;
For never more I shall thee see.

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155

160

The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;

165

Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

Then he cast up a silver wand,

Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well!

170

* i. e. Where I was. An ancient idiom.

The

The lady fett a sigh soe deep,

And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd,

A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie ;

If ought befall yond lady but good,

175

Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes;
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven

For to cheere that gay ladie.

If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
We will but comfort that faire lady,

And wee will return to you againe.

Come on, come on, my lord, he sayes,
Come on, come on, and let her bee:
My sister is craftye, and wold beguile

A thousand such as you and mee.

When they had sayled * fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea;

Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,

When they shold that shooting see.

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185

190

There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and the sea: but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography.

Faire words, quoth he, they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen :
You may hap to thinke itt soone enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe,
He thought his lord then was betray'd;

And he is to Erle Percy againe,

To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

Hold upp thy head, man, quoth his lord;
Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle,

He did it but to prove thy heart,

To see if he cold make it quail.

When they had other fifty sayld,
Other fifty mile upon the sea,

Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe,

Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

Looke that your brydle be wight, my lord,

And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: Looke that your spurres be bright and sharpe,

That you may pricke her while she'll away.

What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth;
What needest thou to flyte with mee?
For I was counted a horseman good

Before that ever I mett with thee.

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200

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210

215

A false