The laird o' Hume he's a huntin' gane,|
Over the hills and mountains clear,
And he has ta'en Sir Hugh the Grame
For stealin' o' the Bishop's mear.
O London dee.
They hae ta'en Sir Hugh the Grame
And led him doon through Strievling toon,
Fifteen o' them cried oot at ance,
"Sir Hugh the Grame he must gae doon!"
"Were I to die," said Hugh the Grame,
"My parents would think it a very great lack."
Full fifteen feet in the air he jumped
Wi' his hands bound fast behind his back.
Then oot and spak the Lady Black,
And o' her will she was right free,
"A thousand pounds, my lord, I'll gie,
If Hugh the Grame set free to me."
"Haud your tongue, ye Lady Black
And ye'll let a' your pleading be!
Though ye would gie me thousands ten,
It's for my honour he would die."
Then oot it spak her Lady Hume|
And aye a sorry woman was she,
"I'tt gie ye a hundred milk-white steeds,
Gin ye'll gie Sir Hugh the Grame to me."
"O, haud your tongue, ye Lady Hume,
And ye'll let a' your pleadings be!
Though a' the Grames were in this court,
He should be hanged high for me."
He lookit ower his left shoulder,
It was to see what he could see,
And there he saw his auld faither,
Weeping and wailing bitterly.
"O, haud your tongue, my auld faither,
And ye'll let a' your mourning be!
For if they bereave me o' my life,
They canna haud the heavens frae me.
"Ye'll gie my brother, John, the sword
That's pointed wi' the metal clear,
And bid him come at eight o'clock
And see me pay the Bishop's mear.
"And brother, James, tak' here the sword
That's pointed wi' the metal brown,
Come up the morn at eight o' clock,
And see your brother putten down.
Ye'll tell this news to Maggie, my wife,|
Neist time ye gang to Strievling toon:
She is the cause I lose my life,
She wi' the Bishop played the loon."