As 1 was walking all alane,
1 heard twa corbies making mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'
'In behint yon auld fail dyke,
1 wot there lies new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
'His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.
'Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue enn;
Wi lock his gowden hair
We '11 theek our nest when it grows bare.
'Mony one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
r his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'
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