3
Up, bairns! she cries, baith grit and sma',
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw,
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a',
Carle, now the King's come.
Come from Newbattles ancient spires,
Bauld Lothian, with your knights, and squires,
And match the mettle of your sires,
Carle, now the King's come.
You're welcome hame, my Monteague,
And bring in your hand the young Buccleugh;
I'm missing some that I may rue,
Carle now the King's come.
Come, Haddington, the kind and gay
You've graced my causeway mony a day;
I'll weep the cause if you should stay
Carle, now the King's come.
Come, premier Duke, and carry down,
Frae yonder Craig; our ancient croun;
It's had a lang sleep and a soun'—
Carle, now the King's come.
Come, Athole, from the hill and wood,
Bring down your clansmen like a cloud:
Come, Morton, shew the Douglas' blood,
Carle, now the King's come.
