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The Fause Ladye.
'The water weets my toe,' she said,
'The water weets my knee;
Hand up, Sir Knicht, my horse's head,
If you a true luve be!'
'I luved ye weel, and luved ye lang,
Yet grace I failed to win;
Nae trust put I in ladye's troth
Till water weets her chin!'
'Then water weets my waist, proud lord,
The water weets my chin;
My achin' head spins round about,
The burn maks sik a din—
Now, help thou me, thou fearsome Knicht,
If grace ye hope to win!'
'I mercy hope to win, high dame,
Yet hand I've nane to gie—
The trinklin' o' a gallant's blude
Sae sair hath blindit me!'
