But they wha live till simmer come,
Some bludie days for this will see.

But up spak cruel Claver'se then,
Wi' hastie wit, an' wicked skill;
"Gie fire on yon westlan' men;
"I think it is my sov'reign's will."

But up bespake his cornet, then,
"It's be wi' nae consent o' me!
"I ken I'll ne'er come back again,
"An' mony mae as weel as me.

"There is not ane of a' yon men,
"But wha is worthy other three;
"There is na ane amang them a',
"That in his cause will stap to die.

"An' as for Burly, him I knaw;
"He's a man of honour, birth, an' fame;
"Gie him a sword into his hand,
"He'll fight thysel an' other ten."

But up spake wicked Claver'se then,
I wat his heart it raise fu' hie!
And he has cry'd that a' might hear,
"Man, ye hae sair deceived me.

"I never ken'd the like afore,
"Na, never since I came frae hame,