The Duke of Argyle
It’s farewell, now, Miss Gordi, I’m now going to leave you,
For to cross the wide ocean, I don’t mean to deceive you.
I’ll cross the wide ocean, where the loud cannon rattle,
I will venture my life on the broad field of battle.
I’ll dress in men’s attire, Alexander, I’ll go with you;
I’ll dress in men’s attire, Alexander, I won’t leave you.
We will boldly fight on, in front line and centre;
I’ll be true to that call, Alexander, I’ll venture.
On the fourteenth we sailed, on the eighteenth we landed,
On the banks of Nargyle, where our troops was commanded;
Where the bullets did fly, and the loud cannon rattle,
The lady’s true love he was slain in that battle.
As he fell on the ground, while his sword it lay bleeding,
She kissed his pale face, while the tears down was streaming;
She picked up his flag, his ensign to carry,
O, she wove it up high in the midst of the valley.
The blood it did flow like a stream from the fountain,
And many’s the brave man there was slain on that mountain.
She’s a rich lady gay, of high birth and breeding,
O, she fought for her king, while her true love lies bleeding.
The Duke of Argyle he came courting this lay,
Where she’s dressed in men’s attire, and he’s going to salute her;
But still she cries, No! Though you are our commander,
No man I’ll enjoy since I lost Alexander.
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