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As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies makkin mane,
The tane until the tither say,
'Whaur sal we gang and dine the day?'
'In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wat there lies a new slain knight.
Naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk his hound and his lady fair.
His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild fowl hame,
His lady's tane anither mate,
So we may mak oor denner sweet.
Ye'll sit on his white hausebane
And I'll pick oot his bonny blue een.
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair,
We'll theek oor nest whan it grow bare.
There's mony an ane for him maks mane,
But nane sal ken whaur he is gane.
Ower his white banes when they are bare,
The wind sal blaw for evermair.
Anon. 
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