The Fee.

In the heicht o' the foray     Sir Raif got a clour,     Sir Raif the regairdless,     In battle sae dour.     O cleanly the saddle     They ca'ed him attour!     Then aid for his wounds     He did sairly beseech,     An' aff to the greenwood     In shade o' a beech     They hurried auld Simon     The kintra-side's leech.     Wi' a tow roon' his neck     Simon knelt on his knee,     An' he saw as he glow'red     Wi' the tail o' his e'e     That armed men held it     Owre bough o' the tree.     "Noo, Simon, to heal     Is your trade, no' to kill,"     Quo' Sir Raif, "An' though, mark ye,     We dootna your skill,     Grup the tow, knaves! If need be     Pull up wi' a will!"     "But what o' my fee,     Noo I ask ye, Sir Raif ?"     "Gin I live, Master Simon,     I'll wager it's safe!     There! Laugh not, ye villains,     His neck ye may chafe!"     O stanched was the blue blude     That ran on the grass,     Sae eident was Simon     His skill to surpass,     Sir Raif was in fair way     His foes to harass.     An' the fee they gae Simon     The tale is aye rife-     For fittin' Sir Raif     To wield sword i' the strife?     'Twas the greatest e'er gi'en-     For they gae him his life!