"He says ye're a lad, and ye are but bad,
"And billie to his son ye canna be.

"I sent ye to the schools, and ye wadna learn;
"I bought ye books, and ye wadna read;
"Therefore, my blessing ye shall never earn,
"Till I see with Bewick thou save thy head."

"Now, God forbid, my auld father,
"That ever sic a thing suld be!
"Billie Bewick was my master, and I was his scholar,
"And aye sae weel as he learned me."

"O hald thy tongue, thou limmer lown,
"And of thy talking let me be!
"If thou does na end me this quarrel soon,
"There is my glove I'll fight wi' thee."

Then Christie Graeme he stooped low
Unto the ground, you shall understand;--
"O father, put on your glove again,
"The wind has blown it from your hand."

"What's that thou says, thou limmer loun?
"How dares thou stand to speak to me?
"If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
"There's my right hand thou shalt fight with me."

Then Christie Graeme's to his chamber gane,
To consider weel what then should be;