Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 209, 1803;
II, 226, 1833. From recitation.
| 1 |
'O Billie, Billie, bonny Billie,
Will ye go to the wood wi me?
We'll ca our horse hame masterless,
An gar them trow slain men are we.' |
| 2 |
'O no, O no!' says Earlstoun,
'For that's the thing that maunna be;
For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill,
Where I maun either gae or die.' |
| 3 |
So Earlstoun rose in the morning,
An mounted by the break o day,
An he has joind our Scottish lads,
As they were marching out the way. |
| 4 |
'Now, farewell, father! and farewell, mother!
An fare ye weel, my sisters three!
An fare ye well, my Earlstoun!
For thee again I'll never see.' |
| 5 |
So they're awa to Bothwell Hill,
An waly, they rode bonnily!
When the Duke o Monmouth saw them comin,
He went to view their company. |
| 6 |
'Ye're welcome, lads,' then Monmouth said,
Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me;
And sae are you, brave Earlstoun,
The foremost o your company. |
| 7 |
'But yield your weapons ane an a',
O yield your weapons, lads, to me;
For, gin ye'll yield your weapons up,
Ye'se a' gae hame to your country.' |
| 8 |
Out then spak a Lennox lad,
And waly, but he spoke bonnily!
'I winna yield my weapons up,
To you nor nae man that I see.' |
| 9 |
Then he set up the flag o red,
A' set about wi bonny blue:
'Since ye'll no cease, and be at peace,
See that ye stand by ither true.' |
| 10 |
They stelld their cannons on the height,
And showrd their shot down in the how,
An beat our Scots lads even down;
Thick they lay slain on every know. |
| 11 |
As eer you saw the rain down fa,
Or yet the arrow frae the bow,
Sae our Scottish lads fell even down,
An they lay slain on every know. |
| 12 |
'O hold your hand,' the Monmouth cry'd,
'Gie quarters to yon men for me;'
But wicked Claverhouse swore an oath
His cornet's death revengd sud be. |
| 13 |
'O hold your hand,' Monmouth cry'd,
'If ony thing you'll do for me;
Hold up your hand, you cursed Gra+eme,
Else a rebel to our king ye'll be.' |
| 14 |
Then wicked Claverhouse turnd about —
I wot an angry man was he —
And he has lifted up his hat,
And cry'd, God bless his Majesty! |
| 15 |
Than he's awa to London town,
Ay een as fast as he can dree;
Fause witnesses he has wi him taen,
An taen Monmouth's head frae his body. |
| 16 |
Alang the brae beyond the brig,
Mony brave man lies cauld and still;
But lang we'll mind, and sair we'll rue,
The bloody battle of Bothwell Hill. |
