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When the spectre tins declared,
It quickly disappeared.
But where it retired no man could espy.

The flowers of the nation,
Were call’d to their station.
With valiant inclination their banners to display;
To Burrow-Muir resorting,
Their right for supporting,
And there rendevousing encamped did lay.

But another bad omen,
That vengeance was coming;
At midnight, in Edinburgh, a voice loud did cry.
As heralds, in their station,
With loud proclamation,
Did name all the Barons in England to die.

These words the Demon spoke.
At the throne of Plotcock,
It charg’d their appearing, appointing the day:
The Provost in its hearing,
The summons greatly fearing,
Appeal’d to his Maker, the same did deny.

At this were many grieved,
As many misbelieved;
But forward they marched to their destiny;
From thence to the border,
They march’d in good order,
The Mersemen and Forest they join’d the array—

England’s invasion,
It was their persuasion,