| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
LANG JOHSKX MOIE. 275 |
||
|
Benachie lyes very low,
The tap o' Noth lyes high ; For a' the distance that's between,
He heard auld Johnny cry. so
Whan on the plain these champions met,
Twa grizly ghosts to see, There were three feet between her brows,
And shoulders were yards three.
These men they ran ower hills and dales, 85
And ower mountains high; Till they came on to Lundan town,
At the dawn o' the third day.
And whan they came to Lundan town, The yetts were lockit wi' bands; 90
And wha were there but a trumpeter, Wi' trumpet in his hands.
" What is the matter, ye keepers all,
Or what's the matter within, That the drums do beat, and bells do ring, 95
And make sic dolefu' din ? "
" There's naething the matter," the keeper said, " There's naething the matter to thee;
But a weighty Scot to strait the rope,
And the morn he maun die." 100
" O open the yetts, ye proud keepers,
Ye'll open without delay ; " The trembling keeper smiling said,
"01 hae not the key." |
||