Or burn us sair, if we come on shore."

Syne Kempion has bent an arblast bow,
And aimed an arrow at her head;
And swore, if she didna quit the shore,
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
And he has gi'en that beast a kiss:
In she swang, and again she cam',
And aye her speech was a wicked hiss.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
An' not for a' thy bow nor thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag,
And he has gi'en her kisses twa;
In she swang, and again she cam',
The fieriest beast that ever you saw.

"Out o' my stythe I winna rise,
Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,