As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the [t'other]1 say,
'[Where]2 sall we gang and dine [today]3?'

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and [his]4 lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en;
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

Many a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken [whare]2 he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."