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 And they as gain, for all their pain

are deck‘d wi‘ spoils o‘ war man;

Fu‘ bauld can tell how her nainsel‘,

was ne’er sae pra‘ pefore men.

At the thorn tree, which you may see,

bewest the Meadow- mill man,

There mony slain lay on the plain,

the clans pursuing still man,

Sic unco‘ backs and deadly whaks,

I never saw the like man,

Lost hands and heads cost them their deeds,

that fell at Preston-Dyke man.

That afternoon when a‘ was done,

I gaed to see the fray man;

But I had wist what after past,

I’d better staid awa man,

On Seaton sands, wi’ rimble hands

they pick’d my pockets bare man;

But I wish ne'er to prie sic fear,

for a‘ the sum and mair man.

O WALY, waly up yon back

And waly, waly, down yon brae,