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'