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And they as gain, for all their pain
are deck‘d wi‘ spoils o‘ war man;
Fu‘ bauld can tell how her nainsel‘,
was ne’er sae pra‘ pefore men.
At the thorn tree, which you may see,
bewest the Meadow- mill man,
There mony slain lay on the plain,
the clans pursuing still man,
Sic unco‘ backs and deadly whaks,
I never saw the like man,
Lost hands and heads cost them their deeds,
that fell at Preston-Dyke man.
That afternoon when a‘ was done,
I gaed to see the fray man;
But I had wist what after past,
I’d better staid awa man,
On Seaton sands, wi’ rimble hands
they pick’d my pockets bare man;
But I wish ne'er to prie sic fear,
for a‘ the sum and mair man.
WALY, WALY.
O WALY, waly up yon back
