But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, The game shall pay I vow an' swear! o'er moor an' dale, For this, niest year. As soon's the clockin-time is by, For my gowd guinea: Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye For 't, in Virginia. Trowth, they had muckle for to blame! 'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, But twa-three draps about the wame Scarce thro' the feathers; An' baith, a yellow George to claim, An' thole their blethers! It pits me ay as mad's a hare; When time's expedient: Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, Your most obedient. T2 JOHN BARLEYCORN,* A BALLAD. I. THERE was three kings into the east, II. They took a plough, and plough'd him dow Put clods upon his head, And they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. III. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And show'rs began to fall; John Barleycorn got up again, IV. The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong, V. The sober autumn enter'd mild, When he grew wan and pale; *This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the same name. His bending joints and drooping head Show'd he began to fail. VI. His colour sicken'd more and more, He faded into age; And then his enemies began To shew their deadly rage. VII. They've taen a weapon, long and sharp, And cut him by the knee; Then ty'd him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgerie. VIII. They laid him down upon his back, IX. They filled up a darksome pit X. They laid him out upon the floor, XI. They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, But a miller us'd him worst of all, For he crush'd him between two stones. XII. And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. XIII. John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, "Twill make your courage rise. XIV. 'Twill make a man forget his woe; "Twill heighten all his joy; "Twill make the widow's heart to sing, Tho' the tear were in her eye. XV. Then let us toast John Barleycorn, Each man a glass in hand; And may his great posterity Ne'er fail in old Scotland! A FRAGMENT. Tune, Gillicrankie.' I. WHEN Guilford good our pilot stood, Then up they gat the maskin-pat, And in the sea did jaw, man; An' did nae less, in full congress, Than quite refuse our law, man. II. Then thro' the lakes Montgomery takes, Wi' sword in hand, before his band, III. Poor Tummy Gage, within a cage Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin |