"I mayna turn, I canna turn, I daurna turn and fight wi' thee; The Crosiers haud thee at a feud, 95 And they wad kill baith thee and me." "O, shame upon ye, traitors a'! I wish your hames ye may never see; Ye've stown the bridle off my naig, And I can neither fight nor flee. 100 "Ye've stown the bridle off my naig, And ye've put water i' my lang gun; Ye've fixed my sword within the sheath, That out again it winna come." He had but time to cross himsel', 105 A prayer he hadna time to say, Till round him came the Crosiers keen, All riding graithed, and in array. "Weel met, weel met, now, Parcy Reed, Thou art the very man we sought; 110 Owre lang hae we been in your debt, Now will we pay you as we ought. "We'll pay thee at the nearest tree, Where we shall hang thee like a hound;" Brave Parcy rais'd his fankit sword, 115 And fell'd the foremost to the ground. Alake, and wae for Parcy Reed, Alake, he was an unarmed man; Four weapons pierced him all at once, As they assailed him there and than. 120 They fell upon him all at once, They mangled him most cruellie; The slightest wound might caused his deid, And they have gi'en him thirty-three. They hacket off his hands and feet, 125 And left him lying on the lee. "Now, Parcy Reed, we've paid our debt, Ye canna weel dispute the tale," The Crosiers said, and off they rade-- They rade the airt o' Liddesdale. 130 It was the hour o' gloamin' gray, When herds come in frae fauld and pen; A herd he saw a huntsman lie, Says he, "Can this be Laird Troughen'?" "There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed, 135 And some will ca' me Laird Troughen'; It's little matter what they ca' me, My faes hae made me ill to ken. "There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed, And speak my praise in tower and town; 140 It's little matter what they do now, My life-blood rudds the heather brown. "There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed, And a' my virtues say and sing; I would much rather have just now 145 A draught o' water frae the spring!" The herd flung aff his clouted shoon, And to the nearest fountain ran; He made his bonnet serve a cup, And wan the blessing o' the dying man. 150 "Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair,-- Ye maun do mair as I ye tell; Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend, And bear likewise my last farewell.