Traditional & Folk Songs with lyrics, midis & Mp3
Baron o Brackley
The Baron o' Brackley
The Baron o' Brackley
Down Deeside cam' lnverey, whistlin'and playin',
He's lichted at Brackley yetts at the day dawin';
Says: "Baron o'Brackley, it's are ye within,
There's sharp swords at your yetts'll gar your bluid spin."
Oot spak the brave baron ower the castle wa',
"Are ye come to spulyie and plunder my ha'?
But gin ye be a gentleman, licht and come in;
Gin ye drink o'my wine ye'll no'gar my bluid spin."
His lady rose up, to the window she went,
She heard her kye lowin' o'er hill and o'er bent;
"O, rise up, bold Brackley and turn back your kye,
For the lads o'Drumwharren are drivin'them by."
"How can I rise, lady, or turn them again?
For where I hae ae man I wat they hae ten."
She's ca'd on her Maries to come ta her hand,
Says: "Bring your rocks, lasses, we will them command.
Gin I had a husband as I wat I hae nane,
He'd no' lie in his bed and see his kye ta'en".
"Now haud your tongue, Peggy, and gie me my gun,
Ye'll see me gang oot but I'll never come in.
Arise, Peggy Gordon and gie me my gun,
I will gang oot though I never come in.
Then kiss me, my Peggy, I'll nae langer stay,
For I will gang oot and meet Inverey."
When Brackley was ready and stood in the close,
A bonnier gallant ne'er mounted a horse.
"What'll come o'your lady and bonny young son?
O, what'll come o' them when Brackley is gone"
"Strike, dogs!" cries Inverey, "fecht till you're slain,
For we are four hunder and ye are four men.
Strike, you proud boaster, your honour is gone
Your lands we will plunder, your castel we'll burn."
At the head o' the Etnach the battle began,
At little Aucholzie they killed the first man.
At first they killed ae man and syne they killed twa,
Then the Baron o'Brackley, the flooer o' them a'.
They killed William Gordon and James o' the Knock,
And brave Alexander, the flooer o' Glenmuick.
Whit sighin' and moanin' was heard in the glen,
For the Baron o' Brackley wha basely was slaln.
Cam' ye by Brackley yetts, cam' ye by there?
And saw ye his Peggy, a-tearin' her hair?
O, I was by Brackley yetts, I cam' by there
And I saw Peggy Gordon a-braidin' her hair.
She was rantin' and dancing and singin' for joy,
She swore that ere nicht she would feast Inverney;
She ate wi' him, drank wi' him, welcomed him in
Was kin to the man wha had slain her baron.
O, fye on ye lady, how could ye dae sae?
Ye opened the yetts tae the fause Inverney.
There's dule in the kitchen and mirth in the ha'
That the Baron o' Brackley is deid and awa'.
from Folk Songs and Ballads of Scotland, MacColl