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JENNY fhall wear the hood,

Jocky the fark of GOD;

And the kift fou of whistles,

That make fick a cleiro,

Our pipers bra, shall hae them a', whate'er comes on it; Busk up your plaids, my lads, cock up your bonnets, March, march, etc.

Highland March.

By Sir Harry Erskine.

N the garb of old Gaul, wi' the fire of old Rome,

Iron Bae of th-coverd mountains of Scotia we come,

Where the Romans endeavour'd our country to gain,
But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vain.

CHORUS.

Such our love of liberty, our country, and our laws,
That like our ancestors of old, we stand by Freedom's

cause;

We'll bravely fight like heroes bold, for honour and applaufe,

And defy the French, with all their art, to alter our laws.

No effeminate customs our finews unbrace,

No luxurious tables enervate our race,

Our loud-founding pipe bears the true martial strain, So do we the old Scottish valour retain.

Such our love, etc.

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale,
As swift as the roe which the hound doth affail,
As the full moon in autumn our fhields do appear,
MINERVA Would dread to encounter our spear.

Such our love, etc.

As a ftorm in the ocean when BOREAS blows,
So are we enrag'd when we rush on our foes;
We fons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks,
Dash the force of our foes with our thundering strokes.
Such our love, etc.

Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France,
In their troops fondly boasted till we did advance ;
But when our claymores they faw us produce,
Their courage did fail, and they fued for a truce.
Such our love, etc.

In our realm may the fury of faction long cease,
May our councils be wife, and our commerce increase ;
And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find,

That our friends ftill prove true, and our beauties prove

kind.

Then we'll defend our liberty, our country, and our laws, And teach our late pofterity to fight in Freedom's caufe, That they like our ancestors bold, etc.

Little wat ye, etc.

LITTLE wat ye wha's coming,
Little wat ye wha's coming,

Little wat ye wha's coming,

JOCK and TAM and a's coming.

DUNCAN'S coming, DONALD'S coming,
COLIN'S coming, RONALD'S coming,
DOUGAL'S coming, LAUCHLAN'S coming,
ALASTER and a's coming.

Little wat ye wha's coming,

JOCK and TAM and a's coming.

BORLAND and his men's coming,
The CAMERONS and M'LEANS coming,
The GORDONS and M'GREGORS coming,
A' the DUNYWASTLES' coming,

Little wat ye, etc.

M'GILVREY of Drumglafs is coming.

WIGTON'S Coming NITHSDALE's coming,
CARNWATH'S Coming, KENMURE's coming,
DERWENTWATER and FOSTER'S coming,
WITHRINGTON and NAIRN's coming.
Little wat ye, etc.

Blyth CowHILL and a's coming.

The Laird of M'INTOSH is coming,
M'CRABIE and M'DONALD'S coming,
The M'KENZIES and M'PHERSONS' coming,
A' the wild M'CRAWS' coming,

Little wat ye, etc.

DONALD GUN and a's coming.

They gloom, they glowr, they look fae big,
At ilka ftroke they'll fell a Whig;

They'll fright the fuds of the Pockpuds,
For mony a buttock bare's coming.

Little wat ye, etc.

FRAGMENTS

HEROIC

OF

BALLADS.

HARDYKNUTE: Or, the Battle of LARGS*.

TATELY ftapt he east the wa,

ST

And stately stapt he west :

Full seventy zeirs he now had fene,
With fkerfs fevin zeirs of rest.
He livit quhen Britons breach of faith
Wroucht Scotland meikle wae;

And

ay his fword tauld to their skaith, He was their deadly fae.

Hie on a hill his castle stude,

With halls and towirs a hicht,

* The battle of Largs was fought on the 1st of August 1263, between Alexander the III. king of Scotland and Haquin the V. king of Norway, in their contention for the Northern and Western Ifles. Haquin had already reduced Bute and Arran; and making a descent with 20,000 men on the continent, was encountered and defeated by the Scots army at Largs in Airshire; upon which he retreated to his ships, and his fleet being diffipated, and in part destroyed by a tempest, he returned to the Orkneys, from whence he had made the descent, and there, after a few days illness, expired.

And guidly chambres fair to fee,
Quhair he lodgit mony a knicht.
His dame fae peirless anes and fair,
For chaft and bewtie deimt,
Nae marrow had in all the land,
Saif EMERGARD the queen.

Full thirtein fons to him fcho bare,
All men of valour stout;
In bludy ficht with fword in hand
Nyne loft their lives bot doubt;
Four zit remain, lang may they live
To stand by liege and land:

Hie was their fame, hie was their micht,
And hie was their command.

Great luve they bare to FAIRLY fair,
Their fifter faft and deir;

Her girdle fhawd her middle gimp,
And gowden glift her hair.
Quhat waefou wae her bewtie bred,
Waefou to zung and auld,
Waefou I trow to kyth and kin,
As story ever tauld !

The King of Norse in fummer tyde,
Puft up with powir and micht,
Landed in fair Scotland the yle,
With mony a hardy knicht.
The tydings to our gude Scots king
Came, as he fat at dyne,
With noble chiefs in braif aray,

Drinking the blude-reid wyne.

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