THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 4 (of 5)

#A. a.# ‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161,

1827. #b.# ‘Burning of Frendraught,’ Maidment’s North Countrie

Garland, p. 4, 1824.

#B.# ‘The Burning of Frendraught,’ Kinloch MSS, V, 399.

#C.# ‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ from a note-book of Dr Joseph

Robertson’s.

#D.# Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 35, 1794.

#E.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, one stanza.

#A a# was communicated to Motherwell by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

(Corrections have here been adopted from Motherwell’s Errata: see also

the Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 322*.) #A b#, says Motherwell, has the

“disadvantage of containing a very considerable number of slight verbal

and literal inaccuracies.” The implication is, or should be, that these

variations are of editorial origin. Some of the readings of #b# are in

themselves better than those of #a#. #b# is repeated in Buchan’s

Gleanings, p. 165. The copy in Maidment’s Scotish Ballads, 1868, I, 267,

is a with a reading or two from #b#, arbitrary alterations, and some

misprints.

Dr Joseph Robertson has, in one of his notebooks, “Adversaria,” p. 63,

the two following stanzas, given him by a gentleman of Buchan as

belonging to “The Burning of Frendraught House.”

‘Will ye play at the cards, Lord John?

Will ye drink at the wine?

Or will ye [gang] to a weel made bed,

And sleep till it be time?’

‘I’ll no play at the cards, ladie,

I’ll no drink at the wine;

But I’ll gang to a weel made bed,

An sleep till it be time.’

Undoubtedly these stanzas may have occurred in a version of this ballad,

but they are a commonplace, and sometimes an intrusive one. See II, 109,

‘Fair Janet,’ #F# 4, 5; 154, ‘Young Hunting,’ #K# 8, 9; 164, ‘Clerk

Saunders,’ #F#, 5, 6; 409, ‘Willie o Douglas Dale,’ #B# 20.

The modern, and extremely vapid, ballad of ‘Frennet Hall’ appeared

originally (I suppose) in Herd’s Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 142, and was

afterwards received into Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 31, The Musical

Museum, No 286, etc.

James Crichton of Frendraught and William Gordon of Rothiemay (a

neighboring estate[19]) had a fierce quarrel about fishing-rights

pertaining to lands which Gordon had sold to Crichton. A legal decision

was rendered in favor of Frendraught, who, however, pursued his

adversary with excessive vigor and procured him to be outlawed. After

this, Rothiemay would hear to no terms of peace, and collected a party

of loose fellows with the intent to waste Frendraught’s lands.

Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest Rothiemay, and on the first

day of the year 1630 set out to put this in force, accompanied, among

others, by his uncle (George Gordon) James Leslie, son of the laird of

Pitcaple, and John Meldrum, who was married to young Leslie’s aunt.

Rothiemay, hearing of Frendraught’s coming, rode out to meet him, and

there was a fight, in which Rothiemay and George Gordon were mortally

wounded, and Meldrum badly. The feud waxed hot, and Frendraught’s lands

were in danger of being burned and ravaged by Highlanders, with whom

John Gordon of Rothiemay, son to the slain laird, had combined for the

purpose. But in the end, by the strenuous exertions of the Marquis of

Huntly and others, a settlement was effected. The laird of Rothiemay and

the children of George Gordon were “to remit their father’s slaughter

mutually,” and in satisfaction thereof the laird of Frendraught was to

pay a certain sum of money to young Rothiemay and to George Gordon’s

children: “which both, Frendraught obeyed and performed willingly, and

so, all parties having shaken hands, they were heartily reconciled.”

This broil was no sooner settled than another sprouted, a side-shoot

from the same stem. Meldrum, who had been with Frendraught in the affray

with Rothiemay, and had been wounded, was dissatisfied with such

requital as he received, and, getting nothing more by his bickering and

threats, helped himself one night to two of Frendraught’s best horses.

Summoned to court for the theft, he “turned rebel” and did not appear.

Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest him, and went to look for

him at Pitcaple, a place belonging to John Leslie, Meldrum’s

brother-in-law. He did not find Meldrum, but fell in with James Leslie,

Pitcaple’s son, who had also been of Frendraught’s party at the

encounter on New Year’s day. There was talk about Meldrum’s behavior, in

which Frendraught comported himself forbearingly; but James Leslie and

Robert Crichton, a kinsman of Frendraught, had hot words, which ended in

Leslie’s getting a dangerous shot in the arm. Hereupon the larger part

of the surname of Leslie rose in arms against the Crichtons.

Frendraught, grieved for what had happened to James Leslie, betook

himself to the Marquis of Huntly, and entreated him to make peace. The

marquis sent for the Leslies, and did his best to reconcile them, but

Pitcaple would listen to nothing until he knew whether his son James was

to live or die. Huntly, fearing for Frendraught’s safety, kept him two

days at the Bog of Gight, and then, hearing that the Leslies were lying

in wait, sent his own son, Viscount Melgum, and the young laird of

Rothiemay, to protect him on the way home. Arrived there, the laird and

his lady begged these young gentlemen to remain overnight, “and did

their best, with all demonstration of love and kindness, to entertain

them, thinking themselves happy now to have purchased such friends who

had formerly been their foes.” At about two in the morning the tower of

Frendraught house, in which these guests lay, took fire, and they with

four of their servants were burnt to death. This occurred on the eighth

(ninth) of October.

So far Sir Robert Gordon, uncle of the lady of Frendraught and cousin of

the Marquis of Huntly, who was perfectly acquainted with all the parties

and circumstances. He goes on to say, with entire fairness: “The rumor

of this unhappy accident did speedily spread itself throughout the whole

kingdom, every man bewailing it, and constructing it diversly as their

affections led them; some laying an aspersion upon Frendraught, as if he

had wilfully destroyed his guests, who had come thither to defend him

against his enemies; which carried no appearance of truth; for, besides

the improbability of the matter, he did lose therein a great quantity of

silver, both coined and uncoined, and likewise all his writs and

evidents were therein burnt.”[20]

The monstrous wickedness of this act would not, in the light of the

history of those times, afford an argument that would of itself avail to

clear Frendraught; but what words could describe his recklessness and

folly! Supposing him willing to set fire to his own house, and sacrifice

his silver and securities, for the gratification of burning young

Rothiemay with the rest, he knew very well what consequences he had to

expect. He had been glad to compound his feud with the Rothiemays by the

payment of money (some say the considerable sum of 50,000 merks). He had

been alarmed, and with good reason, at the prospect of a feud with the

Leslies. But what were these to a feud with the Marquis of Huntly, which

would bring down upon him, and did bring down upon him, not only the

reprisals of the Gordons, but spoliation from all the brigands of the

country?[21]

‘Lewed people demen gladly to the badder ende,’

says Chaucer, and so it was with ballad-makers, and sometimes even with

clerks; John Spalding, for instance, the other contemporary authority

upon this subject, who gives a lively and detailed account of the

burning of the tower, as follows.[22]

“The viscount was laid in a bed in the Old Tower, going off the hall,

and standing upon a vault, wherein there was a round hole, devised of

old, just under Aboyne’s[23] bed. Robert Gordon, born in Sutherland, his

servitor, and English Will, his page, was both laid beside him in the

same chamber. The laird of Rothiemay, with some servants beside him, was

laid in an upper chamber just above Aboyne’s chamber; and in another

room above that chamber was laid George Chalmer of Noth, and George

Gordon, another of the viscount’s servants; with whom also was laid

Captain Rollok, then in Frendraught’s own company. Thus all being at

rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in so sudden and

furious manner, yea, and in a clap, that this noble viscount, the laird

of Rothiemay, English Will, Colin Ivat, another of Aboyne’s servitors,

and other two, being six in number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to

the death, but help or relief; the laird of Frendraught, his lady and

whole household looking on, without moving or stirring to deliver them

from the fury of this fearful fire, as was reported. Robert Gordon,

called Sutherland Robert, being in the viscount’s chamber, escaped this

fire with his life. George Chalmer and Captain Rollok, being in the

third room, escaped also this fire, and, as was said, Aboyne might have

saved himself also if he had gone out of doors, which he would not do,

but suddenly ran up stairs to Rothiemay’s chamber, and wakened him to

rise, and as he is wakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the

chamber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down stairs

again; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they

piteously cried help, help, many times, for God’s cause! the laird and

the lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing this woeful

crying, but made no help nor manner of helping;[24] which they

perceiving, they cried oftentimes mercy at God’s hands for their sins,

syne clasped in other arms, and cheerfully suffered this cruel

martyrdom. Thus died this noble viscount, of singular expectation,

Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire never

enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin,

friends, parents, and whole country people, especially to the noble

marquis, who for his goodwill got this reward.”

Spalding tells us that it was reported that, the morning after the fire,

Lady Frendraught, riding on a small nag, and with no attendants but a

boy to lead her horse, came weeping to the Bog, desiring to speak with

the marquis, but was refused. The Huntly-Gordons, the Earl of Errol

(brother of Viscountess Melgum), and many other friends held a council,

and after serious consideration came to the conclusion that the fire

“could not come by chance, sloth, or accident, but was plotted and

devised of set purpose;” Frendraught, his lady, his friends and

servants, one or other, knowing thereof. The marquis, however, was

resolved not to revenge himself “by way of deed,” but to invoke the

laws. Frendraught, as far as we can see, desired a legal inquiry no less

than Huntly. He addressed himself to the Lord Chancellor and to the

Privy Council, and offered to undergo any form of trial, and, delays

occurring, he repeated to the Council his wish to have “that hidden

mystery brought to a clear light.” Examinations and prosecutions,

extended to the middle of the year 1634, failed to fix the guilt of the

fire on him or anybody, although John Meldrum, on the strength of some

threats which he had uttered, was wrongfully convicted of the act and

was executed.[25]

#A.# The date is the eighteenth of October, new style for the eighth.

When Gordon and Rothiemay (having convoyed Frendraught safely home) are

on the point of returning, Lady Frendraught urges them to stay, in token

of good feeling between Huntly and her husband. Lord John is quite

disposed to comply, but Rothiemay says that his horse has been tampered

with since their coming, and he fears that he is fey. After the regular

evening-mass of ballads (which would have suited Lady Frendraught, a

concealed Catholic, but not her husband), Lord John and Rothiemay are

laid in one chamber, an arrangement which would have allowed both to

escape, as Robert Gordon did, who slept in his master’s room. Lord John

wakes with the smoke and heat, and rouses Rothiemay. The doors and

windows are fastened. Rothiemay goes to the ‘wire-window,’ and finds the

stanchions too strong to be dealt with. He sees Lady Frendraught below,

and cries to her for mercy; her husband killed the father, and now she

is burning the son. Lady Frendraught is sorry that she must burn Lord

John in order to burn Rothiemay, but there is no help; the keys are cast

in the deep draw-well.[26] [Robert] Gordon, who has escaped though the

keys were in the well, calls to his master to jump from the window; he

will catch him in his arms. His master answers that no fire shall part

him and Rothiemay, and besides, the window is fast. He throws his

finger-rings down, to be given to his lady. When the servant goes home

to his mistress, she reproaches him for coming back alive and leaving

his master dead. She tears off the clothes which her maid puts on her,

exclaiming that she won a sore heart the day she was married, and that

that day has returned (which is not easy to understand: see Appendix).

#B.# This fragment represents Lady Frendraught as being very importunate

with Lord John: she presses him three times over to stay, and promises

him a morning-gift of lands if he will comply; by a perversion of

tradition, Strathbogie, which had been in his family three hundred

years, and which, further on, he offers to give her if she will let him

out. Finding that he cannot escape (perhaps stanza 7 should come later),

Lord John takes out his psalm-book and sings three verses, with ‘God end

our misery’ at each verse’s end. In 9 he sees his elder brother, Lord

George, from the window, and asks what news he has, but a defect

conceals from us the point of this passage. Stanza 16 seems to belong to

Lord John’s wife.

#C.# When the gentlemen are in their saddles, ready to ride away, Lady

Frendraught, on her bare knees, begs them to remain, and promises them a

firlot of red gold if they will. When everybody has gone to bed, the

doors are locked and the windows shut. The reek begins to rise and the

joists to crack; Lord John betakes himself to the window, and finds the

stanchions too strong to break. He goes back and wakens Rothiemay, and

proposes to him to praise the Lord in the fifty-third psalm,[27] for

there is treason about them. He calls to Lady Frendraught, walking on

the green, for mercy; she replies that the keys are in the well, and the

doors were locked yesterday. He reproaches her for burning her own

flesh. George Chalmers (who really escaped, though lodged in the third

story) is described as leaping the ditches and coming, from without, to

Rothiemay’s help, and Colin Irving (the Colin Ivat of Spalding, who was

burnt) as doing the same in behalf of Lord John, to whom he calls to

jump into his arms. Lord John is burning, and there is little more left

of him than his spirit; but he throws down a purse of gold for the poor

and his rings for his wife. Lady Rothiemay comes in the morning to cry

vengeance on Frendraught, who has betrayed the gay Gordons, killed her

lord, and burnt her son.[28]

#D.# “‘There are some intermediate particulars,’ Mr Boyd says,

‘respecting the lady’s lodging her victims in a turret or flanker which

did not communicate with the castle.’ ‘This,’ adds he, ‘I only have from

tradition, as I never heard any other stanzas besides the foregoing.’

The author of the original, we may perceive, either through ignorance or

design, had deviated from the fact in supposing Lady Frennet’s husband

to have been slain by Lord John’s father.” Ritson, p. 36.@

It may be noted that three of the most tragical of the Scottish

historical ballads are associated with the name of Gordon: the Burning

of Towie, as we might call ‘Captain Car,’ No 178, through Adam Gordon,

uncle of the first marquis of Huntly; the Burning of Donibristle, known

as ‘The Bonny Earl of Murray,’ No 181, of which the responsibility is

put upon the marquis (then earl) himself; and the Burning of

Frendraught, in which his son perished.

* * * * *

#a.# Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161, from a MS. of Charles

Kirkpatrick Sharpe. #b.# Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 4;

“long preserved by tradition in Aberdeenshire, and procured from an

intelligent individual resident in that part of Scotland.”

The 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;

‘Twill be a token of good greement

’Twixt your 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 great 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 stand 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.

* * * * *

Kinloch MSS, V, 399, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

* * * * * *

‘Ye’ll 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 stay 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.

‘I’ll gie you a’ Straboggie lands,

And the laigh lands o Strathbrae,

. . . . . . . .

‘Now there’s the rings frae my fingers,

And the broach frae my breast-bone;

Ye’ll gae that to my gude ladye

. . . . . . .

* * * * * *

‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup?

How can I loup to thee?

When the blood is boiling in my body,

And my feet burnin frae me?’

* * * * * *

‘If I was swift as any swallow,

And then had wings to fly,

I could fly on to fause Frendraught

And cry vengeance till I die.’

* * * * *

From a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson: “procured in the parish of

Forgue by A. Scott; communicated to me by Mr John Stuart, Aberdeen,

11 October, 1832.”

It was in October the woe began—

It lasts for now and aye,—

The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught,

Lord John and Rothiemay.

When they were in their saddles set,

And ready to ride away,

The lady sat down on her bare knees,

Beseeching them to stay.

‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd,

Well straiket wi a wan;

And if that winna please you well,

I’ll heap it wi my han.’

Then out it spake the gude Lord John,

And said to Rothiemay,

‘It is a woman that we’re come o,

And a woman we’ll obey.’

When a’ man was well drunken,

And a’ man bound for bed,

The doors were lockd, the windows shut,

And the keys were casten by.

When a’ man was well drunken,

And a’ man bound for sleep,

The dowy reek began to rise,

And the joists began to crack.

He’s deen him to the wire-window,

And ruefu strack and dang;

But they would neither bow nor brack,

The staunchions were so strang.

He’s deen him back and back again,

And back to Rothiemay;

Says, Waken, waken, brother dear!

Waken, Rothiemay!

‘Come let us praise the Lord our God,

The fiftieth psalm and three;

For the reek and smoke are us about,

And there’s fause treason tee.

‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!

As ye walk on the green:’

‘The keys are in the deep draw-well,

The doors were lockt the streen.’

‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught!

An ill death may you die!

For think na ye this a sad torment

Your own flesh for to burn?’

George Chalmers was a bonny boy;

He leapt the stanks so deep,

And he is on to Rothiemay,

His master for to help.

Colin Irving was a bonny boy,

And leapt the stanks so deep:

‘Come down, come down, my master dear!

In my arms I’ll thee kep.’

‘Come down? come down? how can I come?

How can I come to thee?

My flesh is burning me about,

And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’

He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd,

And threw it oer the wa:

‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor,

Bid them pray for our souls a’.’

He’s taen the rings off his fingers,

And threw them oer the wa;

Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear,

From me she’ll na get more.

‘Bid her make her bed well to the length,

But no more to the breadth,

For the day will never dawn

That I’ll sleep by her side.’

Ladie Rothiemay came on the morn,

She kneeled it roun and roun:

‘Restore your lodgers, fause Frendraught,

That ye burnd here the streen.

‘O were I like yon turtle-dove,

Had I wings for to flie,

I’d fly about fause Frendraught

Crying vengeance till I die.

‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s,

Both back and every side;

For ye’ve betrayd the gay Gordons,

And lands wherein they ride.

‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s;

I wish you’d sink for sin;

For first you killd my own good lord,

And now you’ve burnd my son.

‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord

I saw him in battle slain,

But a’ is for my own son dear,

The heir o a’ my lan.

‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord

I saw him laid in clay,

But a’ is for my own son dear,

The heir o Rothiemay.’

* * * * *

Ritson’s Scotish Songs, 1794, II, 35; remembered by the Rev. Mr

Boyd, translator of Dante, and communicated to the editor by J. C.

Walker.

The reek it rose, and the flame it flew,

And oh! the fire augmented high,

Until it came to Lord John’s chamber-window,

And to the bed where Lord John lay.

‘O help me, help me, Lady Frennet!

I never ettled harm to thee;

And if my father slew thy lord,

Forget the deed and rescue me.’

He looked east, he looked west,

To see if any help was nigh;

At length his little page he saw,

Who to his lord aloud did cry:

‘Loup doun, loup doun, my master dear!

What though the window’s dreigh and his?

I’ll catch you in my arms twa,

And never a foot from you I’ll flee.’

‘How can I loup, you little page?

How can I leave this window hie?

Do you not see the blazing low,

And my twa legs burnt to my knee?’

* * * * *

Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, in the handwriting of Joseph Robertson when a

youth.

Now wake, now wake you, Rothiemay!

I dread you sleep oer soun;

The bed is burnin us about

And the curtain’s faain down.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

23, 24. _The_ &c. _at the end denote that the servant repeated the

substance of 15–18 and of 20, which, however, was not written

out._

#b.#

1^1. day of.

1^4. Were. 2^1, 5^1, 5^4, 8^3. were.

2^3. out there came the.

6^2. but new.

6^3. the _wanting_.

7^3. to your.

8^1. dressed wi.

9^1. did flee to.

10^1. While he.

10^3, 12^1. the _for_ her.

11^1. Cried _wanting_.

12^5. The keys were casten.

12^6. win away.

13^3. Then called.

15^4. may lay.

17^1. But _wanting_.

18^1. are southering.

19^2. Which are.

20^1. So _wanting_.

20^4. but _wanting_.

21^2. fair _for_ she.

21^3. Calling unto his.

22^4. lord burned.

23^2. come to.

23^4. would not: _no_ &c.

24^4. sit: _no_ &c.

25^2. O _wanting_.

25^4. I wat _wanting_.