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Elphinstone Kist   Traditional Ballad, Music

The Baron O Brackley     by: Traditional

Doon Deeside came lnverey, whistlin and playin.
He’s lichted at Brackley’s yett at the day dawin.
Says: ‘Baron o Brackley, it’s are ye within?
There’s sharp swords at your yett will gar your blood spin.’

Up spake the proud baron o’er the castle wa:
Are ye come to spoil or plunder my ha’?
Or gin ye be gentlemen, licht and come in,
Gin ye drink o my wine ye’ll no gar my blood spin.’

His lady rose up, to the window she went.
She heard her kye lowin o’er hill and o’er fen.
‘Oh, rise up, bold Brackley, and turn back your kye,
The lads o Drumwharren are drivin them by!’

‘How can I rise, lady, and turn them again?
For whaur I hae ae man I’d lief to hae ten.’
She called on her marys to come to her hand,
Says: ‘Bring your rocks, lasses, we will them command.’

‘Gin I had a husband as I wot I hae nane,
He’d no be in his bed and see his kye taen.’
‘Now haud your tongue, Peggy, and gie me my gun.
Ye’ll see me gang oot, but I’ll never come in.

‘Arise, Betsy Gordon, and gie me my gun.
I will gang oot though I never come in.
Then kiss me, my Peggy, I’ll no longer stay,
For I will gang oot and I’ll meet Inverey.’

When Brackley was ready and stood in the close,
A bonnier callant ne’er mounted a horse.
‘What’ll come o your lady and your bonnie young son?
Oh, what’ll come o them when Brackley is gane?’

‘Strike dogs,’ cries Inverey, ‘fecht till you’re slain,
For we are four hundred and ye are four men!’
‘Strike, strike, ye proud boaster, your honour is gane.
Youre lands we will plunder and your castle we’ll burn!’

At the head o the Etnach the battle began.
At little Auchoilzie they killed the first man.
First they killed ae man and syne they killed twa,
And they killed gallant Brackley, the flower o them a.

‘Came ye by Brackley’s yetts, came ye by there,
And saw ye his Peggy a-tearing her hair?
‘Oh, it’s I came by Brackley’s yells, I came by there,
And I saw Peggy Gordon a-braidin her hair.
‘She was ranting and dancin and singin for joy.
She swore that ere nicht she would feast Inverey.
She ate wi him, drank wi him, welcomed him in.
She was kind to the man that had slain her baron.’

‘Oh, fie on ye, lady, why did ye dae sae.
Ye opened yer yetts tae the fause Inverey.’
There’s dule in the kitchen and mirth in the ha’,
For the Baron o Brackley is dead and awa.



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