Classic Poem

Johnie rose up in a May morning,
Call'd for water to wash his hands,
And he has call'd for his gud gray hunds
That lay bund in iron bands, bands,
That lay bund in iron bands.

Ye'll busk, ye'll busk my noble dogs,
Ye'll busk and mak them boun,
For I'm gaing to the Broadspear-hill
To ding the dun deer doun.

Whan Johnie's mither heard o' this
She til her son has gane:
Ye'll win your mither's benison
Gin ye wad stay at hame.

Your meat sall be o' the very, very best
And your drink o' the finest wine,
And ye will win your mither's benison
Gin ye wad stay at hame.

His mither's counsel he wad na tak
Nor wad he stay at hame,
But he 's on to the Broadspear hill
To ding the dun deer doun.

Johnie lookit east, and Johnie lookit west,
And a little below the sun,
And there he spied the dun deer lying sleeping
Aneath a buss o' brume.

Johnie shot, and the dun deer lap,
And he has woundit him in the side,
And atween the water and the wud
He laid the dun deer's pride.

They ate sae meikle o' the venison
And drank sae meikle o' the blude
That Johnie and his twa gray hunds
Fell asleep in yonder wud.

By there cam a silly auld man,
A silly auld man was he,
And he 's aff to the proud foresters
To tell what he did see.

What news, what news, my silly auld man,
What news? Come tell to me;
Na news, na news, said the silly auld man,
But what mine e'en did see.

As I cam in by yon greenwud
And doun amang the scrogs,
The bonniest youth that ere I saw
Lay sleeping atween twa dogs.

The sark that he had on his back
Was o' the Holand sma',
And the coat that he had on his back
Was laced wi' gowd fu' braw.

Up bespak the first forester,
The first forester ava:
And this be Johnie o' Cocklesmuir
It 's time we war awa.

Up bespak the niest forester,
The niest forester ava:
And this be Johnie o' Cocklesmuir
To him we winna draw.

The first shot that they did shoot
They wounded him on the thie;
Up bespak the uncle's son:
The niest will gar him die.

Stand stout, stand stout, my noble dogs,
Stand stout and dinna flee;
Stand fast, stand fast, my gude gray hunds,
And we will mak them dee.

He has killed six o' the proud foresters
And he has woundit the seventh sair;
He laid his leg out oure his steed,
Says, I will kill na mair.

[Oh wae befa' thee, silly auld man,
An ill death may thee dee;
Upon thy head be a' this blude,
For mine, I ween, is free.]