Fu’ many a bra’ Scot lay.
For sair—the English bowmen gall’d
The van—the ungear’d stood,
Nae thirsty shaft e’er reach’d the earth
Unstain’d wi’ Scottish bluid.
Then Sir John Swinton loudly cries
“Bra’ lads! gif we must die,
Follow our cheif, and syne our foes
Shall bear us companie.”
These words when Adam Gordon heard,