Hughie Grame



The Laird o' Hume he's a huntin' gone

Over the hills and mountains clear,

And he has ta'en Sir Hugh the Grame

For stealin' o' the Bishop's mear.



cho: Tay ammarey, O Londonderry

Tay ammarey, O London dee.



They hae ta'en Sir Hugh the Grame

And led him doon through Strievling toon,

Fifteen o' them cried oot at ance,

"Sir Hugh the Grame he must gae doon!"



"Were I to die," said Hugh the Grame

"My parents would think it a very great lack"

Full fifteen feet in the air he jumped

Wi' his hands bound fast behind his back.

Then oot and spak the Lady Black,

And o' her will she was right free,

"A thousand pounds, my lord, I'll give

If Hugh the Grame set free to me."



"Haud your tongue, ye Lady Black

And ye'll let a' your pleading be!

Though ye would gie me thousands ten

It's for my honour he would die."



Then oot it spak her Lady Hume

And aye a sorry woman was she,

"I'll gie ye a hundred milk-white steeds

Gin ye'll gie Sir Hugh the Grame to me."



"O Haud your tongue, ye Lady Hume

And ye'll let a' your pleading be!

Though a' the Grames were in this court,

He should be hanged high for me."

He lookit ower his left shoulder

It was to see what he could see,

And there he saw his auld faither

Weeping and wailing bitterly.



"O, haud your tongue, my auld faither

And ye'll let a' your mournin' be!

For if they bereave me o' my life

They canna haud the heavens frae me."



"You'll gie my brother, John, the sword

That's pointed with the metal clear,

And bid him come at eight o'clock

And see me pay the Bishop'e mear."



"And brother James, tak' here the sword

That's pointed wi' the metal brown

Come up the morn at eight o'clock

And see your brother putten down."

Ye'll tell this news to Maggie, my wife

Neist time ye gang to Strievling toon,

She is the cause I lose my life

She wi' the Bishop played the loon.



Child #191

From MacColl, Folksongs and Ballads of Scotland

Recorded by MacColl

@Scots @outlaw

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