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When my confinement is done at home, I will not stay;
As I have a good offer, I will go away:
Heaven pity poor Britons under the Corn-Law,
For I hope I’ll be free (illegible text), when in Gallowa’.
My brothers have fought for their country’s weal,
With undaunted courage and hearts true as steel;
Tho’ William was wounded they never did sa’,
So I’ll drink a health to them, when in Gallowa’.
Altho’ that the mountains between us be-high,
Where nothing but muirfowls and plevers do fly,
I’ll still pity Scotland under the Corn-Law,
When I’m making Whisky in fair Gallowa’.
Farewel aged mother and brothers adieu,
If Providence spares me I’ll come and see you:
So do not be grieved tho’ I gang awa’
To enjoy my freedom in fair Gallowa’.
But as for you James, dear brother to me,
We oft het the kettle, where none did us see;
And I hope for to do it, when I am awa’,
On the fine heather mountains into Gallowa’.
Likewise for my deary, my heart is in grief,
And nothing will comfort or bring me relief,
Until I get another, when I am awa’,
And safely arrived in fair Gallowa’.