O quit thy sword, unbend thy brow, And give me kisses three; If I'm not won ere the sun goes down Won shall I never be.' He quitted his sword, and smoothed his brow, And gave her kisses three; She crept intill the hole a worm, And came out a fayre ladie.

As for me, why, death a sence, I court the ladie?

At last, so faire a ladie did I spie, That thinking yet on her I burne and quake: On hearbs and flowres she walked pensively; Milde, but yet love she proudly did forsake: White seem'd her robes, yet woven so they were As snow and golde together had been wrought: Above the wast a darke clowde shrouded her.

Never so mad a ladie.

this canna be; For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, The morn's the day that I maun dee." "Full fifteen stane o' Spanish iron They hae laid a' right sair or me; Wi' locks and keys I am fast bound Into this dungeon dark and dreirie!" "Fear ye nae that," quo' the Laird's Jock; "A faint heart ne'er won a fair ladie; Work thou within, we'll work without, And I'll be sworn we'll set thee free.