They warsled up, they warsled down,
Till John fell to the ground;
A dirk fell out of William's pouch,
And gave John a deadly wound.
"O lift me upon your back,15
Take me to yon well fair,
And wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er,
And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair."
He's lifted his brother upon his back,
Ta'en him to yon well fair;20
He's wash'd his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.
"Tak ye aff my Holland sark,
And rive it gair by gair,
And row it in my bluidy wounds,25
And they'll ne'er bleed nae mair."
He's taken aff his Holland sark,
And torn it gair by gair;
He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds,
But they bleed ay mair and mair.30
"Tak now aff my green cleiding,
And row me saftly in;
And tak me up to yon kirk style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green."
He's taken aff the green cleiding,35
And rowed him saftly in;
He's laid him down by yon kirk style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green.
"What will ye say to your father dear,
When ye gae hame at e'en?"40
"I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk style,
Whare the grass grows fair and green."
"O no, O no, my brother dear,
O you must not say so;