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 O then they grippit Hughie the Graeme, And brought him up through Carlisle town:

The lads and lasses stood on the walls,

Crying, 'Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down ! '

'O loose my right hand free,' he says,

'And gie me my sword o' the metal sae fine,

He's no in Carlisle town this day

Daur tell the tale to Hughie the Graeme.'

Up then and spake the brave Whitefoord,

As he sat by the Bishop's knee, 'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,

If ye'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'

'O haud your tongue,' the Bishop says, 'And wi' your pleading let me be;

For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, They suld be hangit a' for me. '

Up then and spake the fair Whitefoord,

As she sat by the Bishop's knee,
 * A peck o' white pennies, my good lord,

If ye'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'

'O haud your tongue now, lady fair,

Forsooth, and so it sail na be; Were he but the one Graham of the name,

He suld be hangit high for me.'

They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe,

He looked to the gallows tree, Yet never colour left his cheek,

Nor ever did he blink his e'e.

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