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TRANENT MUIR. 93
But gallant Roger, like a soger,
Stood and bravely fought, man ;
I'm wae to tell, at last lie fell,
But mae down wi' him brought, man :
At point of death, wi' his last breath
(Some standing round in ring, man),
On's back lying flat, he waved his hat,
And cry'd, God save the king, man.
Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs,
Neglecting to pursue, man,
About they faced, and in great haste
Upon the booty flew, man ;
And they, as gain for all their pain,
. Are deck'd wi' spoils of war, man ;
Fu' bauld can tell how her nainsell
Was ne'er sae pra pefore, man.
At the thorn-tree, which you may see
Bewest the Meadow-mill, man,
There mony slain lay on the plain,
The clans pursuing still, man.
Sic unco hacks, and deadly whacks,
I never saw the like, man ;
Lost hands and heads cost them their deads>
That fell near Preston-dyke, man.
That afternoon, when a' was done,
I gaed to see the fray, man ;
But had I wist what after past,
I 'd better staid away, man :
In Seaton Sands, wi' nimble hands,
They pick'd my pockets bare, man ;
But I wish ne'er to drie sic fear,
For a' the sum and mair, man.

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