Shall the glee maiden make some music ?" "Let her; but it must be melancholy: all mirth would at this moment jar on my ear." The maiden sung a melancholy dirge in Norman French; the words, of which the following is an imitation, were united to a tune as doleful as they are themselves: Yes, thou mayst sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and ground.
Thy life its final course has found, And thou must die.
Yes, lay thee down, And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the grey monk his soul mass mutter, And the deep bell its death tone utter-- Thy life is gone.
Be not afraid.
'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, A fever fit, and then a chill, And then an end of human ill, For thou art dead.
The Prince made no observation on the music; and the maiden, at Ramorny's beck, went on from time to time with her minstrel craft, until the evening sunk down into rain, first soft and gentle, at length in great quantities, and accompanied by a cold wind.

There was neither cloak nor covering for the Prince, and he sullenly rejected that which Ramorny offered.
"It is not for Rothsay to wear your cast garments, Sir John; this melted snow, which I feel pierce me to the very marrow, I am now encountering by your fault.

Why did you presume to put off the boat without my servants and apparel ?" Ramorny did not attempt an exculpation; for he knew the Prince was in one of those humours, when to enlarge upon a grievance was more pleasing to him than to have his mouth stopped by any reasonable apology.

In sullen silence, or amid unsuppressed chiding, the boat arrived at the fishing village of Newburgh.

The party landed, and found horses in readiness, which, indeed, Ramorny had long since provided for the occasion.