Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!

For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. 'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growing green to see: And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! 'Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou hast made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!'