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And tere I see a dead man,
Was riding on his horse.
And O! he be a poor man,
And no hae mony claes,
Te brogues be worn aff his feet,
Aud me see a' his taes.
Te horse bad up his muckle fit
For to gie me a shap,
And gaping wi' his great mouth
To grip me by the tap.
He had a staff into his band,
To fight me an' he coud,
But hersel be rin awa frae him,
His horse be unco proud.
But I be rin around about,
And stand about the guard,
Where I see the deil chap the hours,
Tan me grew unco feared.
Ohon! Ohon! her nainsel said,
And whare will me go rin?
For yonder be the black man
That burns the fouk for sin.
I'll no pe stay nae langer tere,
But fast me rin awa,
And see the man thrawin te rapes
Aside te Broomielaw.
