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eighteenth of October, A dismal tale to hear How good Lord John and Rothiemay Was both burnt in the fire. When steeds was saddled and well bridled, And ready for to ride, Then out it came her false Frendraught, Inviting them to bide. Said, 'Stay this night untill we sup, The morn untill we dine; 'rrtwillbe a token of good greement 'rrtwixtyour good lord and mine.' 'We'll turn again,' said good Lord John; 'But no,' said Rothiemay, 'My steed's trapand, my bridle's broken, I fear the day I'm fey.' When mass was sung, and bells was rung, And all men bound for bed, Then good Lord John and Rothiemay In one chamber was laid. They had not long cast off their cloaths, And were but now asleep, When the weary smoke began to rise, Likewise the scorching heat. 'O waken, waken, Rothiemay! O waken, brother dear! And turn you to our Saviour; There is strong treason here.' When they were dressed in their cloaths, And ready for to boun, The doors and windows was all secur'd, The roof-tree burning down. He did him to the wire-window, As fast as we could gang; Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons! For out we'll never win. When he stood at the wire-window, Most doleful to be seen, He did espy her Lady Frendraught, Who stood upon the green. Cried, Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught! Will ye not sink with sin? For first your husband killed my father, And now you burn his son. O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught, And loudly did she cry; 'It were grteat pity for good Lord John, But none for Rothiemay; But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well, Ye cannot get away.' While he stood in this dreadful plight, Most piteous to be seen, There called out his servant Gordon, As he had frantic been: 'O loup, O loup, my dear master! O loup and come to me! I'll catch you in my arms two, One foot I will not flee. 'O loup, O loup, my dear master! O loup and come away! I'll catch you in my arms two, But Rothiemay may lie.' 'The fish shall never swim in the flood, Nor corn grow through the clay, Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled Twin me and Rothiemay. 'But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee; My head's fast in the wire-window, My feet burning from me. 'My eyes are seething in my head, My flesh roasting also, My bowels are boiling with my blood; Is not that a woeful woe? 'Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair, Where she sits in her hall. 'So I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee; My earthly part is all consumed, My spirit but speaks to thee.' Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, His lady she was seen, And thus addressed his servant Gordon, Where he stood on the green. 'O wae be to you, George Gordon! An ill death may you die! So safe and sound as you stnad there, And my lord bereaved from me.' 'I bad him loup, I bad him come, I bad him loup to me; I'd catch him in my arms two, A foot I should not flee. &c. 'He threw me the rings from his white fingers, Which were so long and small, To give to you, his lady fair, Where you sat in your hall.' &c. Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, O bonny Sophia was her name, Her waiting maid put on her cloaths, But I wot she tore them off again. And aft she cried, Ohon! alas! alas! A sair heart's ill to win; I wan a sair heart when I married him, And the day it's well returnd again. = = B.* * * * ''rr stay this night wi me, Lord John, Ye'll stay this night wi me, For there is appearence of good greement Betwixt Frendraught and thee.' 'How can I bide, or how shall I bide, Or how can I bide wi thee, Sin my lady is in the lands of Air, And I long till I her see?' 'Oh stay this night wi me, Lord John, Oh stay this night wi me, And bonny ['s] be the morning-gift That I will to you gie. 'I'll gie you a Strathboggie lands, And the laigh lands o Strathray, . . . . . . . . . . 'Ye'll saty this night wi me, Lord John, Ye'll stay this night wi me, And I'll lay you in a bed of down, And Rothiemay you wi.' When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And a' men bun to bed, Gude Lord John and Rothiemay In one chamber were laid. * * * * Out hes he taen his little psalm-buik, And verses sang he three, And aye at every verse's end, 'God end our misery!' The doors were shut, the keys were thrown Into a vault of stone, . . . . . . . . . . He is dune him to the weir-window, The stauncheons were oer strong; There he saw him Lord George Gordon Come haisling to the town. 'What news, what news now, George Gordon? Whats news hae you to me? . . . . . . . . . . He's dune him to the weir-window, The stauncheons were oer strang; And there he saw the Lady Frendraught, Was walking on the green. 'Open yer doors now, Lady Frendraught, Ye'll open yer doors to me; And bonny's be the mornin-gift That I shall to you gie.