Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
McPherson's time will not be long,
On yonder gallows-tree.
   Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
   Sae dauntingly gae'd he:
   He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round
   Below the gallows-tree.

O what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
   Sae rantingly, sae wantonly...

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there 's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
   Sae rantingly, sae wantonly...

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife; 
I die by treacherie:
It burns my heart I must depart
And not avenged be.
   Sae rantingly, sae wantonly...

Now farewell, light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
   Sae rantingly, sae wantonly...