And they’ve put water i his lang gun;
They’ve put the sword into the sheathe
That out again it’ll never come.
7
‘Awaken ye, awaken ye, Parcy Reed,
For I do fear ye’ve slept owre lang;
For yonder are the five Crozers,
A coming owre by the hinging-stane.’
8
‘If they be five and we be four,