Robert Burns

John Bushby’s Lamentation. Third Ballad

’Twas in the seventeen hunder year
  	O’ grace and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae’est man
  	O’ ony man alive.

In March the three-and-twentieth morn
  	Tho sun raise clear and bright;
But oh I was a waefu’ man
  	Ere to-fa’ o’ the night.

Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,
  	Wi’ equal right and fame,
And thereto was his kinsman join’d
  	The Murray’s noble name.

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land,
  	Made me the judge o’ strife;
But now Yerl Galloway’s sceptre’s broke,
  	And eke my hangman’s knife.

’Twas by the banks o’ bonnie Dee,
  	Beside Kirkcudbright’s towers,
The Stewart and the Murray there
  	Did muster a’ their powers.

The Murray, on the auld gray yaud,
  	Wi’ winged spurs did ride,
That auld gray yaud a’ Nidsdale rade,
  	He staw upon Nidside.

An’ there had na been the yerl himsel’,
  	O there had been nae play;
But Garlies was to London gane,
  	And sae the kye might stray.

And there was Balmaghie, I ween,
  	In front rank he wad shine;
But Balmaghie had better been
  	Drinking Madeira wine.

Frae the Glenkens came to our aid,
  	A chief o’ doughty deed;
In case that worth should wanted be,
  	O’ Kenmure we had need.

And by our banners march’d Muirhead,
  	And Buittle was na slack;
Whase haly priesthood nane can stain,
  	For wha can dye the black?

And there sae grave Squire Cardoness,
  	Look’d on till a’ was done;
Sae, in the tower o’ Cardoness,
  	A howlet sits at noon.

And there led I the Bushby clan,
  	My gamesome billie, Will;
And my son Maitland, wise as brave,
  	My footsteps follow’d still.

The Douglas and the Heron’s name
  	We set nought to their score;
The Douglas and the Heron’s name
  	Had felt our weight before.

But Douglases o’ weight had we,
  	The pair o’ lusty lairds,
For building cot-houses sae famed,
  	And christening hail-yards.

And there Redcastle drew his sword,
  	That ne’er was stained wi’ gore,
Save on a wanderer lame and blind,
  	To drive him frae his door.

And last came creeping Collieston,
  	Was mair in fear than wrath;
Ae knave was constant in his mind,
  	To keept hat knave frae scaith.

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