So go you down to yon tavern house
Where the welcoming lights are a-beckoning
And sure as I'm a woman true
I'll come, love, and pay for your reckoning.
Well he's spared not the cheer of the Whitby beer...
They scattered feather beds all around and about
Till the curtains their swords was a-raking
And as they run in and as they run out
They said, "That, bonny lass, for your baking".
That's the closest I can get to the bits you mention. Oh...castle wall, not gate.