An' they lay slain on every know.

"O, hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd,

"Gie quarters to yon men for me!"

But wicked Claver'se swore an oath,

His cornet's death reveng'd sud be.

"O hold your hand," then Monmouth cry'd,

"If ony thing you'll do for me;

"Hold up your hand, you cursed Graeme,

"Else a rebel to our king ye'll be."

Then wicked Claver'se turn'd about,