Dying Man to His Guardian Angel

Holde thy hande out ‘a me

O ye guardian angel ye

For ’tis help from thee I need

And no’ne other can me give’t.

 

Moorish spear five cubits long

Is thrust in me by brigand strong

Who’s left me here alone to bleed

In boglands outside Aberdeen.

 

So flap thy wings and tarry not

Ye see that I’m in quite a spot

And if ye fly with paltry speed

Ye’ll go to heaven back with me.