Here bluidy Bell, baith skin and bane,
Lies quietly styll aneath this stane;
He was a stark mosstrooper shent
As ever drave a bow on bent.
He brynt ye Lockwood tower and hall,
An’ flang ye lady o’er ye wall;
For whilk ye Johnstone, stout and wyte,
Set Blacketh a’ in low by nyght,
Whyle cryed a voice, as if frae hell,
‘Haste, open ye gates for bluidy Bell.’”