| |
| WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood | |
| An’ did our hellim thraw, man, | |
| Ae night, at tea, began a plea, | |
| Within America, man: | |
| Then up they gat the maskin-pat, | 5 |
| And in the sea did jaw, man; | |
| An’ did nae less, in full congress, | |
| Than quite refuse our law, man. | |
| |
| Then thro’ the lakes Montgomery takes, | |
| I wat he was na slaw, man; | 10 |
| Down Lowrie’s Burn he took a turn, | |
| And Carleton did ca’, man: | |
| But yet, whatreck, he, at Quebec, | |
| Montgomery-like did fa’, man, | |
| Wi’ sword in hand, before his band, | 15 |
| Amang his en’mies a’, man. | |
| |
| Poor Tammy Gage within a cage | |
| Was kept at Boston-ha’, man; | |
| Till Willie Howe took o’er the knowe | |
| For Philadelphia, man; | 20 |
| Wi’ sword an’ gun he thought a sin | |
| Guid Christian bluid to draw, man; | |
| But at New York, wi’ knife an’ fork, | |
| Sir-Loin he hacked sma’, man. | |
| |
| Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an’ whip, | 25 |
| Till Fraser brave did fa’, man; | |
| Then lost his way, ae misty day, | |
| In Saratoga shaw, man. | |
| Cornwallis fought as lang’s he dought, | |
| An’ did the Buckskins claw, man; | 30 |
| But Clinton’s glaive frae rust to save, | |
| He hung it to the wa’, man. | |
| |
| Then Montague, an’ Guilford too, | |
| Began to fear, a fa’, man; | |
| And Sackville dour, wha stood the stour, | 35 |
| The German chief to thraw, man: | |
| For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk, | |
| Nae mercy had at a’, man; | |
| An’ Charlie Fox threw by the box, | |
| An’ lows’d his tinkler jaw, man. | 40 |
| |
| Then Rockingham took up the game, | |
| Till death did on him ca’, man; | |
| When Shelburne meek held up his cheek, | |
| Conform to gospel law, man: | |
| Saint Stephen’s boys, wi’ jarring noise, | 45 |
| They did his measures thraw, man; | |
| For North an’ Fox united stocks, | |
| An’ bore him to the wa’, man. | |
| |
| Then clubs an’ hearts were Charlie’s cartes, | |
| He swept the stakes awa’, man, | 50 |
| Till the diamond’s ace, of Indian race, | |
| Led him a sair faux pas, man: | |
| The Saxon lads, wi’ loud placads, | |
| On Chatham’s boy did ca’, man; | |
| An’ Scotland drew her pipe an’ blew, | 55 |
| “Up, Willie, waur them a’, man!” | |
| |
| Behind the throne then Granville’s gone, | |
| A secret word or twa, man; | |
| While slee Dundas arous’d the class | |
| Be-north the Roman wa’, man: | 60 |
| An’ Chatham’s wraith, in heav’nly graith, | |
| (Inspired bardies saw, man), | |
| Wi’ kindling eyes, cry’d, “Willie, rise! | |
| Would I hae fear’d them a’, man?” | |
| |
| But, word an’ blow, North, Fox, and Co. | 65 |
| Gowff’d Willie like a ba’, man; | |
| Till Suthron raise, an’ coost their claise | |
| Behind him in a raw, man: | |
| An’ Caledon threw by the drone, | |
| An’ did her whittle draw, man; | 70 |
| An’ swoor fu’ rude, thro’ dirt an’ bluid, | |
| To mak it guid in law, man. | |
| |
