To file the irons frae my dear brither!
For forward, forward we wad be,"
They had na filed a shackle of iron,
A shackle of iron but barely thrie,
When out and spak young Simon brave,
"O dinna ye see what I do see?
"Lo! yonder comes Lieutenant Gordon,
Wi' a hundred men in his cumpanie;
This night will be our lyke-wake night,
The morn the day we a' maun die,"