“Wilt thou give me the keys of thy Castle, Wi’ the blessing of thy gay Ladye? I’se make thee sheriff of Ettrick Forest, Surely while upward grows the tree; If you be not traitor to the King, Forfaulted sall thou never be.”
“But, Prince, what sall come o’ my men? When I gae back, traitor they’ll ca’ me. I had rather lose my life and land, Ere my merrymen rebuked me.”
“Will your merrymen amend their lives, And a’ their pardons I grant thee? Now, name thy lands where’er they lie, And here I render them to thee.”
“Fair Philiphaugh is mine by right, And Lewinshope still mine shall be; Newark, Foulshiells, and Tinnies baith, My bow and arrow purchased me.
“And I have native steads to me, The Newark Lee and Hanginshaw; I have mony steads in Ettrick Forest, But them by name I dinna knaw.”
The keys of the Castle he gave the King, Wi’ the blessing o’ his fair Ladye; He was made sheriff of Ettrick Forest, Surely while upward grows the tree; And if he was na traitor to the King, Forfaulted he suld never be.
Wha ever heard, in ony times, Sicken an outlaw in his degree Sic favour get before a King, As did Outlaw Murray of the forest free?
When Flora ’gins to deck the fields With colours fresh and fine, Then holy clerks their matins sing To good Saint Valentine!
The King of France that morning fair He would a-hunting ride: To Artois forest prancing forth In all his princely pride.
To grace his sports a courtly train Of gallant peers attend; And with their loud and cheerful cries The hills and valleys rend.
Through the deep forest swift they pass, Through woods and thickets wild; When down within a lonely dell They found a new-born child;
All in a scarlet kercher laid Of silk so fine and thin; A golden mantle wrapt him round, Pinned with a silver pin.
The sudden sight surprised them all; The courtiers gathered round; They look, they call, the mother seek; No mother could be found.
At length the King himself drew near, And as he gazing stands, The pretty babe looked up and smiled, And stretched his little hands.
“Now, by the rood,” King Pepin says, “This child is passing fair; I wot he is of gentle blood; Perhaps some Prince’s heir.
“Go bear him home unto my Court With all the care ye may: Let him be christened Valentine, In honour of this day.