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When Gilderoy went to the glen,
he always chus'd the fat,
And in thoſe days there was not ten,
with him durſt bell the cat:
Though he had been as Wallace ſtout,
and tall as Dalmahoy,
He never miſs'd to get a clout,
from my love Gilderoy.
My love ſometimes when he lay down,
did kiſs me, and why not,
And bought to me a tartan gown,
and ſkyring petticoat:
A woman and a woman's ſon,
had never greater joy,
Than we two when we were alone,
I, and my Gilderoy.
At length they catch'd him on a hill,
and both his hands they ty'd,
Alledging he had done ſome ill,
but ſons of whores they ly'd:
Three gallons large of Uſquebah,
we drank at his laſt foy.
Before he went to Edinburgh,
I mean my Gilderoy.
To Edinburgh we follow'd faſt,
but lang or I came there,
They had him mounted on a maſt,
and hinging in the air.
His relicks they were more eſteem'd,
