‘Now by my sooth,’ says Kemp Owyne, ‘This fiery beast I’ll gang to see’; ‘And by my sooth,’ says Segramour, ‘My ae brother, I’ll gang you wi’.’
O they have biggit[125] a bonny boat, And they have set her to the sea; But a mile before they reach’d the shore I wot she gar’d[126] the red fire flee.
‘O brother, keep my boat afloat, An’ lat her na the land so near! For the wicked beast she’ll sure go mad, An’ set fire to the land an’ mair.’
Syne he has bent an arblast bow And aim’d an arrow at her head, And swore, if she didna quit the land, Wi’ that same shaft to shoot her dead.
‘O out o’ my stythe[127] I winna rise-- And it is na for the fear o’ thee-- Till Kemp Owyne, the kingis son, Come to the craig an’ thrice kiss me.’
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang And twisted thrice about the tree, And with a swing she came about: ‘Come to the craig, an’ kiss with me!
‘Here is a royal belt,’ she cried, ‘That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my belt your death shall be.’
He’s louted[128] him o’er the Eastmuir craig, As out she swang and about the tree; He steppèd in, gave her a kiss, The royal belt he brought him wi’.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang And twisted twice about the tree, As awa’ she gid[129], and again she swang-- ‘Come to the craig, an’ kiss with me!
‘Here is a royal ring,’ she said, ‘That I have found in the green sea; And while your finger it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my ring your death shall be.’
He’s louted him o’er the Eastmuir craig, As out she swang and about the tree; He steppèd in, gave her a kiss, The royal ring he brought him wi’.
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang And twisted ance about the tree, As awa’ she gid and again she swang-- ‘Come to the craig, an’ kiss with me!
‘Here is a royal brand,’ she said, ‘That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my brand your death shall be.’
He’s louted him o’er the Eastmuir craig, As out she swang and about the tree; He steppèd in, gave her a kiss That royal brand he brought him wi’.