⁠They press me close on either hand.
And who are you,' True Thomas said,
⁠'That you should ride while they must stand?

'Light down, light down from your horse o' pride,
⁠I trow ye talk too loud and hie,
And I will make you a triple word,
⁠And syne, if ye dare, ye shall 'noble me.'

He has lighted down from his horse o' pride,
⁠And set his back against the stone.
'Now guard you well,' True Thomas said,
⁠'Ere I rax your heart from your breast-bone!'

True Thomas played upon his harp,
⁠The fairy harp that couldna lee,
And the first least word the proud King heard,
⁠It harpit the salt tear out o' his e'e.

'Oh, I see the love that I lost long syne,
⁠I touch the hope that I may not see,
And all that I did o' hidden shame,
⁠Like little snakes they hiss at me.