But lang or a’ the play was play’d,
They wat their hats aboon.
And mony was the feather bed,
That flatter’d on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord’s son,
That never mair cam hame.
The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
A’ for the sake of their true loves;
For them they’ll see na mair.