‘I come na here to fight,’ he said
‘I come na here to play;
I’ll but lead a dance wi’ the bonny bride,
And mount and go my way.’
XIII
There was a glass of the blude-red wine
Was fill’d them up between,
But aye she drank to Lamington,
Wha her true love had been.
XIV
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He’s mounted her high behind himsel’,
At her kin he’s spier’d[542] nae leave.
XV
There were four-and-twenty bonny boys
A’ clad in the Johnstone grey,
They swore they would tak’ the bride again
By the strong hand, if they may.
XVI
It’s up, it’s up the Cowden bank,
It’s down the Cowden brae;
The bride she gar’d the trumpet sound
‘It is a weel-won play!’