And grant, henceforth, that foul debate
’Twixt noblemen may cease.
AN OLD SONG ON THE BATTLE OF FLODDEN.
I Have heard of a lilting, at our ewes’ milking,
Lasses a lilting, before the break of day;
But now there’s a moaning, on ilka green loaning,
That our braw forresters are a’ wede away.
At boughts, in the morning, nae blyth lads are scorning;
The lasses are lonely, dowie, and wae;