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What I hae done for lack o' wit
I never never can reca'; I trust ye're a' my friends as yet,
Gude night, and joy be wi' you a'.
Is there ever a man in all Scotland,
From the highest estate to the lowest degree,
That can shew himself now before our King ? Scotland is so full of treachery.
Yes, there is a man in Westmorland, s
And Johnny Armstrong they do him call;
He has no lands nor rents coming in, Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.
He has horses and harness for them all,
And goodly steeds that be milk-white, 10
"With their goodly belts about their necks, With hats and feathers all alike.
The King he writes a loving letter, And with his own hand so tenderly,
And hath sent it unto Johnny Armstrong, is
To come and speak with him speedily.
When John he look'd this letter upon, He lok'd as blith as a bird in a tree;
" I was never before a King in my life,
My father, my grandfather, nor none of us three. 20