John wore a girdle about his midle,
Imbroidred owre with burning gold,
Bespangled wi' the same mettle
Maist beautifull was to behold.100
Ther hang nine targats at Johnys hat,
And ilka an worth three hundred pound—
"What wants that knave that a King suld haif,
But the sword of honour and the crown?
"O whair gat thou these targats, Johnie,105
That blink sae brawly abune thy brie?"
"I gat them in the field fechting,
Wher, cruel King, thou durst not be.
"Had I my horse, and harness gude,
And ryding as I wont to be,110
It sould haif bene tald this hundred yeir,
The meiting of my King and me!
"God be withee, Kirsty, my brither,
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the Border syde,115
Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.
"And God be withee, Kirsty, my son,
Whair thou sits on thy nursees knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy fathers better thou'lt never be.120
Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall,
Whair on Esk syde thou standest stout!
Gif I had leived but seven yeirs mair,
I wald haif gilt thee round about."
John murdred was at Carlinrigg,125
And all his galant companie;
But Scotlands heart was never sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die.
Because they savd their country deir
Frae Englishmen: nane were sae bauld,130
Whyle Johnie livd on the Border syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.