Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/468

 'It's I haif slayne a worthlesse wicht, Ane menstrel lewde, as you may see!'

'Now schaw to me the harper's heid, And schaw to me the harper's hand, For sair I fear you've causeless spilt As gentil blude as in a' Scotland!'

'Kep then his heid, thou black Douglas'— Sayd boastfullie fase Newtoun Ha'— 'And kep his hand, thou black Douglas, His fingers slim his craft may schaw!'

The stout Erie vysit first the heid, Then neist he lukit on the hand— 'It's foul befa' ye, Newtoun Ha', Ye've slayne the pryde o' gude Scotland

'Now stir ye, stir, my merrie men, The faggot licht, and bete the flame, A fire sal rise o'er this buirdly bield, And its saulless Laird in the lowe we'll tame! '

The bleeze blew up, the bleeze dipt roun' The bonnie towers o' the Newtoun Ha', And evir as armit men ran out, Black Douglas slewe them ane and a'.