[4]
The King he awak'ned out of his ſleep,
out of his bed came haſtilie,
Says, I'll lay all my lands and rents,
that yonder's the Laird of Logie free.
The King has ſent to the priſon ſtrong,
he has called for his keepers three:
Says, How does all your priſoners?
and how does the young Laird of Logie?
Your Majeſty ſent me your wedding-ring.
with your high command to ſet him free;
Then to morrow before that I eat or drink,
I ſurely will hang you keepers three.
Then out beſpoke our gracious Queen,
and ſhe ſpoke words moſt tenderlie,
If ever you do hang a man for this,
your Majeſty muſt begin with me.
The one took ſhipping at the Peer of Leith,
the other at the Queen's-Ferrie;
Lady Margʻret has gotten the man ſhe loves,
I mean the young Laird of Logie.
The Sailor's Epitaph; or, Jack under the Hatches.
HERE a ſheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
the darling of our crew,
No more he'll hear the tempeſt howling,
for Death hath brought him to.
His form was of the manlieſt beauty,
his heart was kind and ſoft,
Faithful below he did his duty,
but now he's gone aloft.
Tom never from his word departed,
