Connie Dover

Connie Dover - Hugh The Graeme

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<b>Hugh The Graeme</b> by <i>Connie Dover</i><br />Our lords are all a-hunting gone

Over the hills and mountains fair

And they have taken Hugh the Graeme

For stealing of the bishop's mare

And they have bound him hand and foot

And led him up through Stirling town

The lads and lasses met him there

Cried Hugh the Graeme must be set down

Oh, loose my right hand free he said

And put my broadsword in the same

There's none in Stirling town this day

Dares tell this lie of Hughie Graeme

Then up bespoke the Lady Black

As she sat by the bishop's knee

One thousand pounds I'll give to thee

If Hugh the Graeme you will set free

Then out did speak the Lady White

And aye, a sorry woman was she

I'll give one hundred milk-white steeds

If you give Hugh the Graeme to me

Oh, hold your tongue you ladies fair

And you let all your pleading be

Though you would give ten thousand pounds

He should be hanged high for me

They brought him to the gallows hill

He looked on the gallows tree

Yet ne'er the color left his cheek

Nor tear did blind his eye

At length he looked round about

To see whatever he could see

And there he saw his old father

And he was weeping piteously

Oh, hold your tongue my father dear

And you let all your mourning be

Thy weeping's harder on my heart

Than all that they can do to me

And brother John take here my sword

With silver glittering all around

Come up the hill at twelve o'clock

To see your brother Hugh cut down.

And remember me to Maggie, my wife

Who does not hold my life so dear

And bid her come at eight o'clock

To see me pay for the bishop's mare

Bring the news to my lady wife

She is the cause that I am here

'Twas she who stole the bishop's mare

She is his wanton mistress fare

And hear me now, my kith and kin

I never did dishonor thee

And though they bereave me of my life

They cannot hold the heavens from me

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