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Some auld us'd hands had taen a note,
I scorn'd to lie;
An' pay't the fee.
But, by my gun, guns
the wale, An' by my pouther an' my hail, An' by my hen, an' by her tail,
I vow an' swear! The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale,
For this, niest year.
As soon's the clockin-time is by,
For my gowd guinea :
For't, in Virginia.
Trowth, they had muckle for to blame ! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the wame
Scarce thro' the feathers; An' baith a yellow George to claim,
An' thole their blethers !
It pits me aye as mad's a hare; So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; But pennyworths again is fair,
When time's expedient; Meantime I am, respected sir,
Your most ubedient,
Three kings both great and high,
John Barleycorn should die.
Put clods upon his head,
John Barleycorn was dead.
And show'rs began to fall;
And sore surpris'd them all.
And he grew thick and strong,
That no one should him wrong.
When he grew wan and pale;
Show'd he began to fail.
He faded into age;
To shew their deadly rage.
* This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name.
And cut him by the knee;
Like a rogue for forgerie.
And cudgell'd him full sore ;
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.
With water to the brim,
There let him sink or swim.
To work him farther woe,
They toss'd him to and fro.
The marrow of his bones;
For he crush'd him between two stones.
And drank it round and round;
Their joy did more abound.
Of noble enterprise,
'Twill make your courage rise.
XIV. 'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy: 'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her
Each man a glass in hand ;
Ne'er fail in old Seotland !
Tune, “ Gillicrankie."
And did our hellim thraw, man,
Within America, nan:
And in the sea did jaw, man;
Than quite refuse our law, man.
I wat he was na slaw, man ;
And Carleton did ca', man:
Montgomery-like did fa', man, Wi' sword in hand, before his band,
Amang his en’mies a', man.
Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 'Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphia, man:
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin
Guid christian blood to draw, man; But at New-York, wi' knife an' fork,
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.
'Till Fraser brave did fa', man; Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
An' did the buckskins claw, man;
He hung it to the wa', man.
Began to fear a fa, man;
The German chief to thraw, man:
Nae mercy had at a', man;
An' lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.
Till death did on him ca', man;
Conform to gospel law, inan:
They did his measures thraw, man,
An' bore him to the wa', man.
VII. Then clubs an’ hearts were Charlie's cartes,
He swept the stakes awa', man, 'Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,
Led him a sair fau pas, man: