Johnnie Cope

The oreeginal wis written by Adam Skirving but haes sin syne been eikit tae an chynged by mony sindry fowk.

Sir John Cope rade the nor' richt faur,
Yit ne'er a rebel he cam naur,
Till he laundit at Dunbaur,
Richt early in the mornin

Owerwird:

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye wauken yit,
Or are ye sleepin A wad wit;
haste ye yit up for the drums dae beat,
fey Cope raise in the mornin.

He wrat a challenge frae Dunbaur,
Come an fecht me Chairlie gin ye daur;
Gin it binna be the chance o war
A'll gie ye a merry mornin.

Whan Chairlie leukit the letter upo'
He drew his swuird the scabbart frae -
Sae hieven restore tae me ma ain,
A'll meet ye, Cope, in the mornin.

Cope swuir wi mony a bluidy wird
That he wad fecht thaim gun an swuird,
But he fled frae his nest lik a frichtent bird,
An Johnnie he teuk the weeng in the mornin.

But whan he seen the hieland lads
Wi tartan trews an white cockauds,
Wi swuirds an guns an rungs an gauds,
Johnnie, he teuk weeng in the mornin.

Sir Johnnie intae Berwick rade,
Juist as the deil haed been his guide;
Giein him the warld he wadna steyed
Tae fochten the boys in the mornin.

Says Laird Mark Car, ye arna blate,
Tae bring us news o yer ain defeat;
A think ye deser the back o the gate,
Git oot ma sicht this mornin.

~Lizzy~