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Jock of Hazeldean

by
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 
Why weep ye by the tide? 
I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 
And ye sall be his bride: 
And ye sall be his bride, ladie, 
Sae comely to be seen"-- 
But aye she loot the tears sown fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean.
"Now let this wilfu' grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale; His step is first in peaceful ha' His sword in battle keen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold you sall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen"-- But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha'; The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

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