And in his lug they rammed a peg,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
How he did skip, and he did roar,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie!
The deils ne'er saw sic fun before,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
They took him neist to Satan's ha',
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
There to lilt wi' his grand-papa,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Says Cumberland, I'll no gang ben,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
For fear I meet wi' Charlie's men,)
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
Oh, nought o' that ye hae to fear,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
For fient a ane o' them comes here,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
The deil sat girnin in the neuk,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
Ryving sticks to roast the Duke,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
They clapped him in an arm-chair,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie,
And fast in chains they bound him there,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
And aye they kept it het below,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, Wi' peats and divots * from Glencoe, † Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
And roasted him baith head and feet,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
They ate him up baith stoop and roop,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie;
And that's the gate they served the Duke,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie.
DOES HAUGHTY GAUL INVASION THREAT?
TUNE The Barrin o' the Door.
DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat?
Then let the loons beware, sir,
There's wooden walls upon our seas,
And volunteers on shore, sir.
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,*
And Criffelt sink in Solway,
Ere we permit a foreign foe
On British ground to rally.
O let us not, like snarling curs,
In wrangling be divided,
Till slap come in an unco loon,
And wi' a rung decide it.
Be Britain still to Britain true,
Among ourselves united;
For never but by British hands
Must British wrongs be righted.
A high hill at the source of the Nith, in Dumfries-shire. † A hill at the mouth of the same river, on the Soiway Frith.
The kettle o' the kirk and state,
Perhaps a clout may fail in't;
But deil a foreign tinkler loon
Shall ever ca' a nail in't.
Our fathers' blood the kettle bought,
And who would dare to spoil it?
By heaven, the sacrilegious dog
Shall fuel be to boil it!
The wretch that would a tyrant own;
And the wretch, his true-born brother,
Who'd set the mob aboon the throne;
May they be damned together!
Who will not sing, "God save the King!"
Shall hing as high's the steeple;
But while we sing, "God save the King!"
We'll ne'er forget the people.
BESSY AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
TUNE-The bottom of the Punch Bowl.
OLEEZE me on my spinning-wheel !
O leeze me on my rock and reel !
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me feil† and warm at e'en !
I'll set me doun, and sing, and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun;
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel!
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my
* An exclamation of endearment.
† Covers me with a suff agreeable to the skin.
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest;
The sun blinks kindly in the biel,
Where blythe I turn my spinning-wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the clover hay,
The paitrick whirring ower the lea,
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel;
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below envy,
O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel?
ONE DAY I HEARD MARY SAY.
TUNE-I'll never leave thee.
ONE day I heard Mary say,
How shall I leave thee?
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay;
Why wilt thou grieve me?
Alas! my fond heart will break,
If thou should leave me :
I'll live and die for thy sake,
Yet never leave thee.
Say, lovely Adonis, say,
Has Mary deceived thee?
Did e'er her young heart betray
New love, that has grieved thee?
My constant mind ne'er shall stray;
Thou may believe me.
I'll love thee, lad, night and day,
And never leave thee.
Adonis, my charming youth,
What can relieve thee?
Can Mary thy anguish soothe ?
This breast shall receive thee.
My passion can ne'er decay,
Never deceive thee;
Delight shall drive pain away,
Pleasure revive thee.
But leave thee, leave thee, lad,
How shall I leave thee?
Oh! that thought makes me sad;
I'll never leave thee!
Where would my Adonis fly?
Why does he grieve me?
Alas! my poor heart will die,
If I should leave thee.*
From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
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