Mr. T -- r's Lament for the Loss of His Comrade

Tune -- Neil Gow's Lament for His Wife's Death
http://www.box.net/shared/kb2utan4kk

Woes my heart, my comrade's gone,
And sore against my will,
On the thirteenth of August last,
He left me at Springhill.
All in the prime of fowling-time,
When game appear'd full bright,
He suddenly was call'd away,
All in the silent night.

For honour he did not refuse,
His heart was kind and free,
Most grief he had to leave this place,
Was Ladykirk and me;
Because we had been comrades dear,
And long together were,
And many chearful nights had spent
About the town of Ayr.

But since he's gone, I troubled am,
I cannot happy be,
I think I must a lady wed,
To bear me company.
While we enjoy our wealth at home,
With peace and unity;
While my dear comrade, when abroad,
May face his enemy.

'Tis a pity that this gentleman
Was call'd so soon away,
For sure he shot thirteen birds
Ere nine o'clock a-day;
His ammunition still was good,
His gun mark'd wondrous sure,
A better shooter, I declare,
Ne'er hunted Walwood moor.

Were I to tell his properties,
You'd scarcely credit me,
He had the most refined wit,
That ever I did see;
How prudently he could behave
In every company,
And often did delight himself
In his humility.

But since he's gone, there is no help,
I must contented be,
You know that dangers great attend
Those that do sail the sea.
May Providence attend him still,
And may his life long spare,
And send my comrade, Quintin, safe
Home to the town of Ayr.

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