Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BOTHWELL BRIDGE, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BOTHWELL BRIDGE, by                    
First Line: "o billie, billie, bonny billie"
Last Line: The bloody battle of bothwell bridge
Subject(s): "bothwell, Scotland;scotland - Relations With England;war;


O billie, billie, bonny billie,
Will ye go to the wood wi' me?
We'll ca' our horse hame masterless
An' gar them trow slain men are we.
O no, O no, says Earlstoun,
For that 's the thing that mauna be;
For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill
Where I maun either gae or die.
So Earlstoun rose in the morning
An' mounted by the break o' day,
An' he has join'd our Scottish lads
As they were marching out the way.
Now farewell, father, and farewell, mother,
An' fare ye weel, my sisters three;
An' fare ye weel, my Earlstoun,
For thee again I'll never see.
So they're awa' to Bothwell Hill
An' waly, they rode bonnily;
When the Duke o' Monmouth saw them comin
He went to view their company.
Ye're welcome, lads, then Monmouth said,
Ye're welcome, brave Scots lads, to me;
And sae are you, brave Earlstoun,
The foremost o' your company.
But yield your weapons ane an' a',
O yield your weapons, lads, to me;
For gin ye'll yield your weapons up
Ye 'se a' gae hame to your country.
Out up then spak a Lennox lad
And waly, but he spoke bonnily;
I winna yield my weapons up
To you nor nae man that I see.
Then he set up the flag o' red
A' set about wi' bonny blue:
Since ye'll no cease, and be at peace,
See that ye stand by ither true.
They stell'd their cannons on the height
And showr'd their shot down in the how,
An' beat our Scots lads even down;
Thick they lay slain on every know.
As e'er you saw the rain down fa'
Or yet the arrow frae the bow,
Sae our Scottish lads fell even down;
An' they lay slain on every know.
O hold your hand, then Monmouth cry'd,
Gie quarters to yon men for me;
But wicked Claverhouse swore an oath
His cornet's death reveng'd sud be.
O hold your hand, then Monmouth cry'd,
If only thing you'll do for me,
Hold up your hand, you cursed Graeme,
Else a rebel to our king ye'll be.
Then wicked Claverhouse turn'd about,
I wot an angry man was he,
And he has lifted up his hat
And cry'd, God bless his Majesty!
Than he 's awa' to London town
Ay e'en as fast as he can dree;
Fause witnesses he has wi' him ta'en,
An' ta'en Monmouth's head frae his body.
Alang the brae beyond the brig
Mony brave man lies cauld and still;
But lang we'll mind and sair we'll rue
The bloody battle of Bothwell Hill.






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