Classic Poem

Now maist o'us maun sleep in earth
Until the Judgment Day,
But wi' that traitor Restalrig
God wot it wasna sae.

Whiles he was sleepin' in the earth,
Weel-happit wi' the grass,
Word cam unto the Lords o' Council
He a foul traitor was

He didna bide the angel's trump
Nor twinklin' o' an e'e;
They howkit him oot o' his grave,
A three-year corp was he.

They brocht him into Edinboro court,
‘Fause traitor,’ cried they a';
Now God preser's lest sic a thing
Should ever us befa'