But he lay dead on Yarrow.

"O haud your tongue," her father says
"And let be a' your sorrow;
I'll wed you to a better lord
Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, father," she says,
"Far warse ye mak' my sorrow;
A better lord could never be
Than him that lies on Yarrow."

She kissed his lips, she kaim'd his hair.
As oft she'd dune before, O;
And there wi' grief her heart did break
Upon the banks o' Yarrow.

"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
"And put on your armour so bright;
Lord William will hae Lady Margret awa
Before that it be light."

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night."

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,