Will ye go to Sheriffmuir,
Bauld John o' Innisture,
There to see the noble Mar
And his Highland laddies;
A' the true men o' the north,
Angus, Huntly, and Seaforth.
Scouring on to cross the Forth,
Wi' their white cockadies?
There you'll see the banners flare,
There you'll hear the bagpipes' rair,
And the trumpets' deadly blare,
Wi' the cannon's rattle.
There you'll see the bault M'Craws,
Cameron's and Clanronald's raws,
And a' the clans, wi' loud huzzas,
Rushing to the battle.
There you'll see the noble Whigs,
A' the heroes o' the brigs,
Raw hides and wither'd wigs,
Riding in array, man.
Ri'en hose and raggit hools,
Sour milk and girnin gools,
Psalm-beuks and cutty-stools,
We'll see never mair, man.
Will ye to to Sheriffmuir,
Bauld John o' Innisture?
Sic a day, and sic an hour,
Ne'er was in the north, man.
Siccan sights will there be seen;
And, gin some be nae mista'en,
Fragrant gales will come bedeen,
Frae the water o' Forth, man. |