But och! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one!
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.

And now a widow I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,
When I think on John Highlandman.

Recitativo

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle,
Wha used to trysts an' fairs to driddle, [markets, toddle]
Her strappin' limb an' gawsie middle [buxom]
(He reach'd nae higher)
Had holed his heartie like a riddle,
And blawn't on fire. [blown it]

Wi' hand on hainch, and upward e'e, [hip]
He crooned his gamut, one, two, three,
Then, in an _Ario's_ key,
The wee Apollo
Set aff, wi' _allegretto_ glee,
His _gig_ solo.

Air

TUNE: Whistle Owre the Lave O't