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“Whoy, Heaster, where deavil's thou gwoing,

Thou'lt droyve the ould creature to dead; Hould still the cart till I conseyder,

Gyang, take the ould yaud bee the head. Whoy, Twommy mon, what wast thou saying?

Cwome, say't all again without feal ;
If thou'lt swear unto all thou hast tould me,

I've had the wrong sow bee the teal.”

“ I'll swear unto all I has tould thee,

That this is our TRUE SOVEREIGN KEYNG; There never was house so ill gueydit,

And bee swuch a dwort of a theyng.” “ Bwot what of the cannie-bulls, Twommy?

That's reyther a doubtful concern; The thoughts of these hworrid meale weeyming

Make me tremble for Heaster and bearn ?”

They're the clans of the Nworth, honest Josey,

As brave men as ever had breath ; They've ta’en the hard seyde of the quorrel,

To stand by the reyght until death.

They have left all their feythers and mwothers,

Their weyves and their sweethearts and all, And their heames, and their dear little bearnies,

With their true prince to stand or to fall.”

“Oh, Gwod bless their sowls, honest fellows !

Lword, Twommy! I's crying like mad! I dwont know at all what's the matter,

But 'tis summat of that rwoyal lad. Hoy, Heaster! thou fusionless hussey,

Tworn back the yaud's head towards heame; Get wop on the twop of the panniels,

And dreyve back the rwod that thou keame.

“Now, Twommy, l's dwone leyke mee betters,

I's changed seydes, and sey let that stand, And, mwore than mwost gentles can say for,

I've changed both with heart and with hand; And, since this lad is OUR TRUE SOVERING,

I'll geave him all that I possess, And I'll feyght for him too, should he need it,

Can any true swobject do less ?”

“ Now geave me theyne hand, honest Josey,

That's spoke lyke a true Englishman ; He needs but a pleyne honest stworey,

And he'll dwo what’s reyght if he can. Cwome thou down to ould Nanny Cworbats,

I'll give thee a quart of good brown, And we'll dreynk to the health of Prince Charles,

And every true man to his own.”


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 froward Duke,

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.

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