Our lords are to the mountains gane,
A hunting o' the fallow deer,
And they hae gripet Hughie Graham,
For stealing o' the Bishop's mare.
And they hae tied him hand and foot,5
And led him up thro' Stirling town;
The lads and lasses met him there,
Cried, "Hughie Graham, thou art a loun."
"O lowse my right hand free," he says,
"And put my braid sword in the same,10
He's no in Stirling town this day,
Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham."
Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord,
As he sat by the bishop's knee,
"Five hundred white stots I'll gie you,15
If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free."
"O haud your tongue," the bishop says,
"And wi' your pleading let me be;
For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
Hughie Graham this day shall die."20
Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord,
As she sat by the bishop's knee;
"Five hundred white pence I'll gie you,
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me."
"O haud your tongue now, lady fair,25
And wi' your pleading let it be;
Altho' ten Grahams were in his coat,
It's for my honour he maun die."
They've taen him to the gallows knowe,
He looked to the gallows tree,30
Yet never colour left his cheek,
Nor ever did he blin' his e'e.
At length he looked round about,
To see whatever he could spy,
And there he saw his auld father,35
And he was weeping bitterly.