(4)
It's ne'er be ſaid, my ſtalwart feres,
we kill'd him when a-ſleiping.
They ſeiz'd his broad-ſword and his targe,
and closely him surrounded:
O pardon̜̙—mercy! gentlemen,
he then ſou' loudly sounded.
Sic as ye gae, ſic ye sall hae,
nae grace we ſhaw to thee can.
Donald, my man, wait till I fa,
and ye sall hae my brechan;
Ye'll get my purse, tho’ fu' o'gowd,
to tak me to Loch-Lagan.
Syne they tuke out his bleeding heart,
and set it on a spear;
Then tuke it to the house o' Mar,
and ſhaw'd it to his dear.
We could nae gie Sir James's purse,
we can nae gie his brechan,
But ye sall hae his bleeding heart,
but and his bleeding tartan.
Sir James the Rose, O for thy sake
my heart is now a-breaking!
Curs'd be the day, I wrought thy wae,
thou brave heir of Buleighan!
