An whan they saw that he was deid,
They turnd and ran awa,
An they buried him in Legget’s Den,
A large mile frae Harlaw.

They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
They were o sma record;
But Forbes and his merry men,
They slew them a’ the road.

On Monanday, at mornin,
The battle it began,
On Saturday at gloamin’,
Ye’d scarce kent wha had wan.

An sic a weary buryin,
I’m sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.

Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They’re sleepin at Harlaw.

Ballad:  Dickie Macphalion

(Sharpe’s Ballad Book, No.  XIV.)

I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
I sat me down, and cried ochone! 
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain. 
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.

I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
And a’ to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain! 
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
And a’ to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that’s slain.

Ballad:  A Lyke-Wake Dirge

(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away art paste,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
Every nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne’er gavest nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
Every nighte and alle,
To Brigg o’ Dread thou comest at laste,
And Christe receive thye saule.

From Brigg o’ Dread when thou mayst passe,
Every nighte and alle,
To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
And Christe receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thye saule.

Ballad:  The Laird Of Waristoun