Robert Burns, 1788
Fare thee weel, ye dungeons dark and strang,|
Fareweel , fareweel to thee.
Macpherson's rant will ne'er be lang,
On yonder gallers tree.
Sae wontonly, sae dauntonly,
O rantonly gaed he,
He played a tune an' he danced aroon,
Below the gallers tree.
2. By a woman's treacherous hand
3. Well the laird o' Grant, ye Highlan' Sa'nt
4. Some come here noo tae see me hang|
And some to buy my fiddle,
Before I'll pairt wi' thee,
I'll brak' her through the middle.
5. Come ye loose the bands from off my hands
6. Little did my mother think
7. The reprieve was comin' o'er the Brig o' Banff,