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RED CLAN-RANALD'S MEN

Is likewise a pretended transcript from the "Dwomony's beuk," and relates to the skirmish on Clifton Moor, on the 18th of December, 1745, where a party of M'Donalds, left to guard the baggage, so gallantly repulsed two regiments of cavalry, killing one hundred and fifty of them, and wounding more, while the Highlanders lost only twenty-four in all.

THERE'S news-news-gallant news,

That Caril disna ken, joe ;

There's gallant news of tartan trews,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.

There has been blinking on the bent,
And slashing on the fell, joe;

The red-coat sparks hae got their yerks,

But Caril darena tell, joe.

The prig dragoons they swore by 'zoons
The rebels' hides to tan, joe;

But when they fand the Highland brand,
They funkit and they ran, joe.

And had the frumpy frowardDuke,

Wi' a' his brags o' weir, joe,

But met our Charlie hand to hand,
In a' his Highland gear, joe;

Had English might stood by the right,
As they did vaunt fu' vain, joe,
Or played the parts of Highland hearts,
The day was a' our ain, joe.

We darena say the right's the right,
Though weel the right we ken, joe;

But we dare think, and take a drink
To red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.

Afore I saw our rightfu' prince
Frae foreign foggies flee, joe,
I'd lend a hand at Cumberland
To rowe it in the sea, joe.

Come fill a cup, and fill it up,

We'll drink the toast ye ken, joe, And add, beside, the Highland plaid,

And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.

We'll drink to Athole's gallant band, To Cluny of the Glen, joe,

To Donald Blue, and Appin true, And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe;

And cry our news-our gallant news, That Caril disna ken, joe,

Our gallant news of tartan trews,

And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.

UP AN' RIN AWA', GEORDIE.

Ir is a pity that we cannot father this on the ideal "Dwomony" altogether. However, it is not just so bad when considered that it is an answer to a Whig song of 1746, beginning," Up an' rin awa', Charlie," &c.

Up an' rin awa', Geordie,

Up an' rin awa', Geordie,

For feint a stand in Cumberland

Your troops can mak ava, Geordie.
Your bauld militia are in qualms,
In ague fits an' a', Geordie,

And auntie Wade, wi' pick an' spade,
Is delving through the snaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.

The lads o' Westmoreland came up,
An' wow but they were braw, Geordie,
But took the spavie in their houghs,

An' limpit fast awa', Geordie.

O had ye seen them at their posts,
Wi' backs against the wa', Geordie,
Ye wad hae thought-It matters not—
Flee over seas awa', Geordie.

Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.

These Highland dogs, wi' hose an' brogs, They dree nae cauld at a', Geordie; Their hides are tann'd like Kendal bend, An' proof to frost an' snaw, Geordie. They dive like moudies in the yird,

Like squirrels mount a wa', Geordie ; An' auld Carlisle, baith tower an' pile, Has got a waesome fa', Geordie.

Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.

Brave Sir John Pennington is fled,
An' Doctor Waugh an' a', Geordie;
And Humphrey Stenhouse he is lost,
And Aeron-bank's but raw, Geordie.

And Andrew Pattison's laid bye,

The prince of provosts a', Geordie;

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