Clavers and his Highlandmen
Came down upon the raw man,
Who being stout, gave mony a clout,
The lads began to claw, then.
Wi' sword and targe into their hand,
Wi' which they were na slaw, man,
Wi' mony a fearfu' heavy sigh,
The lads began to claw, then.
O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stank,
She flang amang them a', man:
The butter-box got mony knocks,
Their riggings paid for a', then.
They got their paiks, wi' sudden straiks,
Which to their grief they saw, man:
Wi' clinkum clankum o'er their crowns,
The lads began to fa', then.
Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
And flang amang them a' man:
The English blades got broken heads.
Their crowns were cleav'd in twa, then:
The durk and door made their last hour.
And prov'd their final fa' man:
They thought the devil had been there,
That play'd them sic a paw, then.
The solemn league and covenant
Came whigging up the hills, man.
Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bills, then:
In Willie's name they thought nae ane
Durst stop their course at a' man;
But hur nain sell, wi' mony a knock,
Cried "Furich, Whigs awa, man."
Sir Evan Dhu, and his men true,
Came linking up the brink, man:
The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink, then.
The true Maclean, and his fierce men,
Came in amang them a', man;
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand,
A' fled and ran awa, then.
Oh on a ri! oh on a ri!
Why should she lose King Shames, man?
Oh rig in di! oh rig in di!
She shall break a' her banes, then;
With furichinish, and stay a while,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gie a straik out-o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa, then.
O fie for shame, ye're three for ane!
Hur nain sell's won the day, man;
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
Because they ran away, then.
Had bent their brows, like Highland trues,
And made as lang a stay, man,
They'd sav'd ther king, that sacred thing,
And Willie'd run away, then |
