Tho' wit and worth in either sex,
St. Mary's Isle can shaw that;
Wi' dukes an' lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a' that.
But why should we to nobles jouk,
And is 't against the law that?
For why, a lord may be a gouk,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that !
A lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi' ribbon, star, an' a' that.
A beardless boy comes o'er the hills,
Wi' uncle's purse an' a' that;
But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels,
A man we ken, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that !
For we're not to be bought an' sold
Like naigs, an' nowt, an' a' that.
Then let us drink the Stewartry,
Kerroughtree 's laird, an' a' that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he's worthy a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Here's Heron yet for a' that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They would be blest that saw that.
FY, let us a' to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin' there;
For Murray's light-horse are to muster,
And O, how the heroes will swear!
An' there will be Murray commander,
And Gordon the battle to win;
Like brothers they'll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance an' kin.
An' there will be black-nebbit Johnnie,
The tongue o' the trump to them a';
An' he get na hell for his haddin'
The Deil gets na justice ava';
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane,
But, as for his fine nabob fortune,
We'll e'en let the subject alane.
An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff,
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped,
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord, what's become o' the head?
An' there will be Cardoness, Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ;
A wight that will weather damnation,
For the Devil the prey will despise.
An' there will be Douglasses doughty,
New christ'ning towns far and near!
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissing the arse o' a peer;
An' there will be Kenmure sae gen'rous
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation
He lent them his name in the firm.
But we winna mention Redcastle,
The body e'en let him escape!
He'd venture the gallows for siller,
An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape.
An' where is our King's lord lieutenant,
Sae fam'd for his gratefu' return?
The billie is gettin' his questions,
To say in St. Stephen's the morn.
An' there will be lads o' the gospel,
Muirhead wha's as good as he's true;
An' there will be Buittle's apostle,
Wha's more o' the black than the blue;
An' there will be folk from St. Mary's,
A house o' great merit and note,
The deil ane but honours them highly,
The dei ane will gie them his vote!
An' there will be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ;
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing-
His merit had won him respect :
An' there will be rich brother nabobs,
Though nabobs, yet men not the worst;
An' there will be Collieston's whiskers,
An' Quintin, a lad o' the first.
An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie,
Tak tent how ye purchase a dram!
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie,
An' there will be gleg Colonel Tam ;
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree,
Whose honour was ever his law,
If the virtues were pack'd in a parcel,
His worth might be sample for a'.
An' can we forget the auld major,
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys;
Our flatt'ry we'll keep for some other,
Him only 'tis justice to praise.
An' there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming's gude knight;
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle,
Wha, luckily, roars in the right.
An' there, frae the Niddisdale's borders,
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves;
Teugh Jockie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie,
That griens for the fishes an' loaves;
An' there will be Logan MacDowall,
Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there,
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway,
Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair.
Then hey the chaste interest o' Broughton,
An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring!
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom 'twould make him a King;
An' hey for the sanctified Murray,
Our land who wi' chapels has stor❜d;
He founder'd his horse among harlots,
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.
JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMENTATION.
"TWAS in the seventeen hunder year
O' grace and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae'est man
O' ony man alive.
In March the three-and-twentieth morn
The sun raise clear and bright;
But oh I was a waefu' man
Ere to-fa' o' the night.
Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,
Wi' equal right and fame,
And thereto was his kinsman join'd
The Murray's noble name.
Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land,
Made me the judge o' strife;
But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre 's broke,
And eke my hangman's knife.
'Twas by the banks o' bonnie Dee,
Beside Kirkcudbright's towers,
The Stewart and the Murray there
Did muster a' their powers.
The Murray, on the auld gray yaud,
Wi' winged spurs did ride,
That auld gray yaud a' Nidsdale rade,
He staw upon Nidside.
An' there had na been the yerl himsel',
O there had been nae play ;
But Garlies was to London gane,
And sae the kye might stray.
And there was Balmaghie, I ween,
In front rank he wad shine;
But Balmaghie had better been
Drinking Madeira wine.
Frae the Glenkens came to our aid,
A chief o' doughty deed;
In case that worth should wanted be,
O' Kenmure we had need.
And by our banners march'd Muirhead,
And Buittle was na slack;
Whase haly priesthood nane can stain,
For wha can dye the black?
And there sae grave Squire Cardoness,
Look'd on till a' was done;
Sae, in the tower o' Cardoness,
A howlet sits at noon.
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