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(As sung by Jimmy McBeath)

Fare-weel ye dungeons dark and strong
Fare-weel, fare-weel to thee.
MacPherson's time will no' be long
On yonder gallows tree.

Sae rantinly, sae wantonly, sae dauntinly gaed he,
He played a tune and danced it roon'
Ablow the gallows tree.

'Twis by a woman's treacherous hand
That I was condemned to dee.
Abune a ledge at a window she stood,
And a blanket she threw o'er me.

The Laird o' Grant, that Highland saint,
That first laid hands on me,
He pled the cause o' Peter Broon,
To let MacPherson dee.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And gie to me my sword,
An' there's no' a man in all Scotland
But I'll brave him at his word.

There's some come here to see me hanged,
And some to buy my fiddle,
But before that I do part wi' her,
I'll break her thro' the middle.

He took the fiddle into both o' his hands,
And he brak' it ower a stane.
Says, there's nae ither hand sall play on thee
When I am deid and gane.

O, little did my mother think
When first she cradled me,
That I would turn a rovin' boy
And die on the gallows tree.

The reprieve was comin' ower the Brig o' Banff
To set MacPherson free,
But they pit nock a quarter afore
And hanged him to the tree.



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