And spotless innocence, were thine.
Ah, poor Louise!

Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft.
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left
To poor Louise,

Let poor Louise some succour have!
She will not long your bounty crave,
Or tire the gay with warning stave;
For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave
For poor Louise.

The song was no sooner finished than, anxious lest the dispute
should be revived betwixt his brother and the Earl of March, King
Robert called to the latter, "What think you of the minstrelsy, my
lord? Methinks, as I heard it even at this distance, it was a wild
and pleasing lay."

"My judgment is not deep my lord; but the singer may dispense with
my approbation, since she seems to have received that of his Grace
of Rothsay, the best judge in Scotland."

"How!" said the King in alarm; "is my son below?"

"He is sitting on horseback by the glee maiden," said March, with
a malicious smile on his cheek, "apparently as much interested by
her conversation as her music."