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There was a glass of the blude-red wine
Was fill'd them up between, But aye she drank to Lamington,
Wha her true love had been.
He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve;
He 's mounted her high behind himsel', At her kin he's spier'd nae leave.
xv There were four-and-twenty bonny boys
A' clad in the Johnstone grey, They swore they would tak' the bride again
By the strong hand, if they may.
xvi It's up, it's up the Cowden bank,
It's down the Cowden brae ; The bride she gar'd the trumpet sound
' It is a weel-won play ! '
The blude ran down by Cowden bank
And down by Cowden brae, But aye she gar'd the trumpet sound
' It's a' fair play ! '
' My blessing on your heart, sweet thing !
Wae to your wilfu' will! Sae mony a gallant gentleman's blood
This day as ye've gar'd spill.'