| Why weep ye by the tide, Lady
|
| Why weep ye by the tide?
|
| I’ll wed ye to my youngest son
|
| And ye shall be his bride
|
| And ye shall be his bride, Lady
|
| Se comely to be seen
|
| By ay she’s let the tears down fa'
|
| For Jock of Hazeldean
|
| Noo let this wilfu' grief be done
|
| And dry that cheek so pale
|
| Young Frank is chief or Errington
|
| And lord of Langley-dale
|
| His step is first in peaceful ha'
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| His sword in battle keen
|
| But ay she’s let the tears down fa'
|
| For Jock of Hazeldean
|
| A chain o' gowd ye shall na lack
|
| Nor braid to bind your hair
|
| Not mettled hound, nor managed hawk
|
| Nor palfrey fresh and fair
|
| And ye the fairest o' them a'
|
| Shall ride our forest queen
|
| But ay she’s let the tears down fa'
|
| For Jock of Hazeldean |