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322 TONE-POETRY OF ROBERT BURNS |
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And they hae tied him hand and foot, And led him up thro' Stirling town ;
The lads and lassies met him there, Cried ' Hughie Graham thou art a loun.'
'O lowse my right hand free,' he says,
. ' And put my braid sword in the same, He's no in Stirling town this day, Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.'
Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop's knee;
'Five hundred white stots I'll gie you, If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free.'
'O haud your tongue,' the bishop says, ' And wi' your pleading let me be ;
For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die.'
Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop's knee,
'Five hundred white pence I'll gie you, If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me.'
' O haud your tongue now lady fair, And wi' your pleading let it be;
Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat, It's for my honor he maun die.'
They've taen him to the gallows knowe, He looked to the gallows tree,
Yet never color left his cheek, Nor ever did he blin' his e'e.
At length he looked round about, To see whatever he could spy,
And there he saw his auld father, And he was weeping bitterly.
' O haud your tongue, my father dear And wi' your weeping let it be ; *For tho' t*hey rob me o' my life, They cannot o' the Heaven hie.
And ye may gie my brother John
My sword that's bent in the middle clear,
And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the bishop's mare.
* Variation in Museum: ' Thy weeping's sairer on my heart Than a' that they can do to me.* |
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