His courage true, like him were few
That still despised flight, man;
For king and laws, and country's cause,
In Honour's bed he lay, man;
His life, but not his courage, fled,

While he had breath to draw, man.

And Major BowLE, that worthy foul,
Was brought down to the ground, man;
His horse being shot, it was his lot

For to get mony a wound, man :
Lieutenant SH, of Irish birth,
Frae whom he call'd for aid, man,
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head,
And wadna be gainsaid, man.

He made fick hafte, fae spur'd his beast,
'Twas little there he faw, man:

To Berwick rade, and safely faid,
The Scots were rebels a', man;

But let that end, for well 'tis kend
His use and wont to lie, man;
The Teague is naught, he never faught,
When he had room to flee, man.

And CADDELL dreft, amang the rest,
With gun and good claymore, man;
On gelding grey he rode that way,
With pistols fet before, man;

The caufe was good, he'd fpend his blood,
Before that he would yield, man;

But the night before he left the cor,

And never fac'd the field, man.

But gallant ROGER, like a foger,
Stood and bravely fought, man :
I'm wae to tell, at last he fell,

But mae down wi' him brought, man.
At point of death, wi' his last breath,
(Some standing round in ring, man),
On's back lying flat, he wav'd his hat,
And cry'd, God fave the King, man.

Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs,
Neglecting to pursue, man,
About they fac'd, and in great haste
Upon the booty flew, man;

And they as gain, for all their pain,
Are deck'd wi' spoils of war, man ;
Fow bald can tell how her nainfell
Was ne'er fae pra before, man.

At the thorn tree, which you may fee
Bewest the meadow-mill, man,
There mony flain lay on the plain;
The clans pursuing still, man.
Sick unco' hacks, and deadly whacks,
I never faw the like, man,

Loft hands and heads coft them their deads,

That fell near Preston-dyke, man.

That afternoon, when a' was done,
I gaed to see the fray, man;
But had I wift what after past,
I'd better staid away, man:
On Seaton fands, wi' nimble hands,
They pick'd my pockets bare, man;

But I wish ne'er to drie fick fear,

For a' the fum and mair, man.

The Archer's March.

OUND, found the music, found it,
Let hills and dales rebound it,

Let hills and dales rebound it,

In praise of archery ;

Its origin divine is,

The practice brave and fine is,
Which generously inclines us
To guard our liberty.

Art by the gods employed,
By which heroes enjoyed,

By which heroes enjoyed

The wreath of victory.

The deity of Parnaffus,

The god of foft careffes,

Chafte CYNTHIA and her laffes
Delight in archery.

See, see yon bow extended,
'Tis Jove himself that bends it,
'Tis Jove himself that bends it,

O'er clouds on high it glows.

All nations, Turks and Parthians,
The Tartars and the Scythians,
The Arabs, Moors, and Indians,
With brav'ry draw their bows.

Our own true records tell us,
That none cou'd e'er excel us,
That none cou'd e'er excel us
In martial archery;

VOL. I.

Р

With shafts our fires engaging,
Oppos'd the Romans raging,
Defeat the fierce Norvegian,

And fpar'd few Danes to flee.

Witness Largs and Loncartie,
Dunkel and Aberlemny,

Dunkel and Aberlemny,

Roflin and Bannockburn.

The Cheviots- -all the border
Were bowmen in brave order,

Told enemies, if further

They mov'd, they'd ne'er return.

Sound, found the music, found it,
Let hills and dales rebound it,
Let hills and dales rebound it,
In praise of archery :

Us'd as a game it pleases,
The mind to joy it raises,

And throws off all diseases
Of lazy luxury.

Now no more care beguiling,
When all the year looks fmiling,

When all the year looks fmiling
With healthful harmony:

The fun in glory glowing,

With morning dew bestowing

Sweet fragrance, life, and growing,

To flowers and ev'ry tree.

'Tis now the archers royal,

An hearty band and loyal,

An hearty band and loyal,

That in just thoughts agree,

Appear in ancient bravery,
Defpifing all base knavery,
Which tends to bring in slavery

Souls worthy to live free.

Sound, found the mufic, found it,
Fill up the glass and round wi't,
Fill up the glass and round wi't,
Health and prosperity

To our great CHIEF and Officers,
T'our Prefident and Counsellors;
To all who, like their brave forbears,
Delight in archery.

General LESLY'S March.

ARCH, march, march,

Why the d―

don't ye march?

Stand to your arms, my lads,

Fight in good order,

Front about, ye musketeers all,

Till ye come to the English border,

Stand till't, and fight like men,

True gospel to maintain,

The parliament's blyth to see us a' coming;

When to the kirk we come,

Frae Popish relicks, and a' fuch innovations,

That a' the warld may see,

There's nane i' the right but we,

Of the auld Scottish nation.