THE BATTLE OF SHERRAMUIR

Tune-" The Cameronian Rant."

"O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?"
I saw the battle, sair and teugh,
And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd
And mony a bouk did fa', man:

The great Argyle led on his files,

I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles;

They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,

They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords clash'd, And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, Till fey men died awa, man.

La, la, la, la, &c.

But had ye seen the philibegs,

And skyrin tartan trews, man;

When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs,
And covenant True-blues, man:

In lines extended lang and large,
When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge;
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted dows, man!
La, la, la, la, &c.

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true? The chase gaed frae the north, man; I saw mysel, they did pursue,

The horsemen back to Forth, man; And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, They took the brig wi' a' their might, And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; But, cursed lot! the gates were shut; And mony a huntit poor red-coat, For fear amaist did swarf, man!" La, la, la, la, &c. .

My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man;
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae gude will
That day their neibors' blude to spill;
For fear, for foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose; they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.

They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in his en'mies' hands, man,
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
But mony bade the world gude-night;
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell
Flew off in frighted bands, man!
La, la, la, la, &c.

THE BRAES O' KILLIECRANKIE

WHERE hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O?
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O?

Chorus.-An ye had been whare I hae been,
Ye wad na been sae cantie, O;
An ye had seen what I hae seen,
I' the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my Auntie, O;
But I met the devil an' Dundee,
On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, &c.

The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,
An' Clavers gat a clankie, O;
Or I had fed an Athole gled,
On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, &c.

AWA' WHIGS, AWA'

Chorus.-Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae gude at a'.

OUR thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses;

But Whigs cam' like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.

Awa' Whigs, &c.

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dustDeil blin' them wi' the stour o't!

An' write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o't. Awa' Whigs, &c.

Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:

The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse,
An' we hae done wi' thriving.
Awa' Whigs, &c.

Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him wauken:
Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!

Awa' Whigs, &c.

A WAUKRIFE MINNIE

WHARE are you gaun, my bonie lass,
Whare are you gaun, my hinnie?
She answered me right saucilie,
"An errand for my minnie."

O whare live ye, my bonie lass,
O whare live ye, my hinnie?
"By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken,
In a wee house wi' my minnie."

But I foor up the glen at e'en.
To see my bonie lassie;

And lang before the grey morn cam,
She was na hauf sae saucie.

O weary fa' the waukrife cock,

And the foumart lay his crawin! He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep, A wee blink or the dawin.

An angry wife I wat she raise,

And o'er the bed she brocht her; And wi' a meikle hazel rung

She made her a weel-pay'd dochter.

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass,
O fare thee well, my hinnie!
Thou art a gay an' a bonnie lass,
But thou has a waukrife minnie.

THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND

Tune-" Robaidh dona gorach."

DEAR Myra, the captive ribband's mine, 'Twas all my faithful love could gain; And would you ask me to resign

The sole reward that crowns my pain?

Go, bid the hero who has run

Thro' fields of death to gather fame, Go, bid him lay his laurels down,

And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim.

The ribband shall its freedom lose-
Lose all the bliss it had with you,
And share the fate I would impose
On thee, wert thou my captive too.

It shall upon my bosom live,

Or clasp me in a close embrace; And at its fortune if you grieve,

Retrieve its doom, and take its place.