The Prince from Badenoch that night,

Over the mountains took his flight.

With only six in’s company,

And one who led them on the way.

O’er many a rock, thro’ glens they past,

And to Invergary came at last.

About two hours ere break of day;

But none within that house did stay,

Only one servant, the laird being gone,

Bed or provisions there were none:

No drink but water to be had,

On the cold floor he made his bed,

All in their clothes thus sleeping lay,

Till near the middle of the day:

Having had no sleep five nights before,

And little food, you may be sure.

No bread or cheese there could they find,

To this the Prince did well comply,

They went in search of all was nigh,

To wit, brave O’Neil and Sullivan

With Allan M‘Donald of Elen-o-ron,

Alex. M‘Donald, Edward Burke,

And four stout men the boat to work,

Donald MacLeod was pilot too,

No more were in his retinue.

For store they had four pecks of meal,

A pot they bought for making kail:

This was on April twenty-sixth,

They put to sea, full sore perplext,

At the same place he came on shore,

When first he landed the year before.

Dark was the night, the wind blew high,

The rain drove on, black was the sky,

No deck or cover was to be got,

Pump or compass had they not;

Before the wind they durst not stand;

Because they knew not where to land:

In all the Isles were armed men;

But in what place they did not ken.

Ev’ry wave threat’ning their last,

And shipt great seas, which o’er them past;

Yet kept above from sand and rock,

Now on this isle they landed were;

But found no house or shelter there,

Except an old stye of a byre,

Wherein they kindled up a fire,

Shot a cow and did her boil,

And made fine brochan of her oil.

The place was hollow and remote,

Upon dry land hauld up their boat;

But when they view’d the raging sea,

They prais’d their Maker heartilie,

To think what dangers they’d come by

’Twixt the isles of Cole, Mull and Skye.

The storm it still increased high’r,

For fourteen hours it blew like fire.

They spy’d, for dangers, round about,

And then to sleep their prince was put.

No bed-clothes but the sail all wet,

Without straw, bolster, or a matt,

Where cows had lain all night before,

A poor palace without a door,

A bed of state, all wet with shern:

This may the great humil’ty learn.

Here they remain’d for nights two,

Until the storm did overblow:

And then for Stornaway set sail,

But meeting with a desp’rate gale,

Were drove on Scalpa-isle, or Glass,

Which to one MacLeod belonging was,

So Donald return’d into the town,

And found all to confusion grown,

Above two hundred in arms were,

And furich ha nish every where.

A clergyman from the South Uist

He sent a letter, for truth almost,

That the Prince, with above five hunder,

Was coming for to burn and plunder.

Then Donald to their Chiefs did go,

And curs’d and swore it was not so:

For the Prince has not got a man but three,

And I one of his number be.

So gentlemen, think what you do,

Lest, when too late, you come to rue;

For if Seaforth himself were here,

A hair of’s head you durst not steer;

For, if you kill him, or catch alive,

Think not for such an act to thrive.

This island lies far out at sea,

In faith it will revenged be

By favourites he hath abroad,

So stop your fury, cries brave MacLeod,

For surely, gentlemen, if you do it,

Your babes unborn may come to rue it.

Then said they, Well, since it is so,

Out of this island let him go;

For if the rabble come to hear it,

They’ll do it through a zealous sp’rit.

The wind is fair and so be gone,

We’ll still the people and send them home.

Keep all right snug and let none know

Whether he’s in this isle or no.

MacLeod and Burke, here left on shore,

Went to their Prince with hearts full sore.

Cry’d Sullivan, We’ll take the hill,

No, said the Prince, We’ll stand it still:

Since here is friendship in the least,

Take ye no fear, we’ll be releas’d,

So in that night return’d again

Their boat from sea, with the two men;

But the other two who took the hill,

Where they ran I cannot tell.

Next morn they put to sea again,

Though hard beset for want of men,

Having only three who understood

Either to row, or sail to crowd.

For store they got two pecks of meal,

Brandy, beef, butter and ale,

So bid adieu to brave Kildoun,

As to the Orkneys they were boun’.

But to the south as they did steer,

Two English ships there did appear,

Which made them all in haste to turn,

And put into the isle of Euirn,

A desart place, where none abode,

One mile in length, another broad,

Where fishers oft frequent by day;

But seeing them all fled away,

Thinking they were the King’s press-boat,

Their fish behind was all forgot,

Both fresh and drying on the rock,

Of Cod and Ling, the poor men’s stock;

And here they stay’d a day or two,

Until the ships were out of view,

And on the fish well did they fare,

Now here to stay they thought was vain,

On the tenth of May set sail again,

And back to Scalpa came once more,

Where they were kindly us’d before,

And offer’d money for men and boat;

But such a thing could not be got,

To venture with them out to sea,

To Noraway or Germanie.——

But here they found danger to stay,

So in all haste they put away;

For men in arms in ev’ry place,

In search of him were in full chace.

Ships and boats watching by sea,

So without fresh store they’re forc’d to flee:

And coming past the South of Uist,

An English ship before they wist,

Commanded by one Ferguson,

For three full leagues came chasing on:

They kept by shore, to windward lay,

Till in the Loch call’d Esca-bay.

Got on an island, and then by chance,

So here they were so hard bestead,

Of salt water they dramack made,

And of it hastily did eat,

Hunger for sauce, made it good meat.

If e’er I mount a throne, said he,

I’ll mind who din’d this day with me.

A bottle of brandy then he took,

And to them all drank better luck.

So then for Benbecula,

They hoisted sail, and steer’d awa’:

And landed there among the rocks,

Where Crab-fish and Partan flocks,

To fishing these, with speed went all,

And soon did fill a wooden pail.

The hut was two miles from the shore,

Where Charles carried this store,

Lest suspicion should arise,

This he did for mere disguise:

And when near to this hut they drew,

Such a cottage one did ne’er view,

On feet and hands they crawled in,

Sowre was the smoke their eyes to blin’:

Then Edward Burke digg’d down the door

And made the entry somewhat more.

’Twas here Clan-Ron. did visit make,

At this time the faithful MacLeod,

In Campbell’s boat the sail did croud,

And steer’d for the main land again;

How matters stood he long’d to ken

With brave Lochiel and Murray too,

And have their council what to do.

Murray’s answer was, My money’s gone,

And help from me you can get none.

Then Donald laid out what cash he had

For liquor and for other trade,

Whereof his master stood in need,

And so return’d again with speed,

Being only eighteen days away,

Which to his Prince seem’d a long stay.

No counsel he brought, as I heard tell;

But ev’ry man do for himsel,

Which made his Master quite amaz’d,

And for a time he on him gaz’d:

It pierced Donald’s heart to see

A Prince into such misery,

Confin’d into a stinking stye,

And ’bove his head two hydes of kye,

The Prince, O’Neil and Sullivan,

Edward Burke and Donald the man,

Just from the foot of Corradail,

In Campbell’s boat they did set sail,

And landed in the isle of Ouia,

From South Uist not far awa’,

And there they stayed a few nights;

But constantly were in sad plights:

For armed boats still passing by,

They knew not where to hide or ly.

Charles, O’Neil and a sure guide,

Went thence unto Rushness to hide;

But was not there above nights two,

Till information was all thro’,

Where he lodged at Rushness,

Which trusty Donald did distress:

So he, that night, with Sullivan

Set sail, to save him if they can,

And got him once more safe on board;

But wind and rain upon him pour’d:

So at Ushness point they shelter took,

And lodg’d under a clifted rock.

This storm it did the whole day blow,

And then at night they came to know

Of a party, distant, but miles two:

So to sea again they’re forced to go.

And as they steer’d to Loch Boisdale,

One of the sailors a swearing fell,

He saw a boat full of Marines,

Which prov’d a rock at some distance.

Cry’d, Hardy weather, and ship about,

The others two days hover’d near,

And sunk their boat through perfect fear,

Both night and day lay in the field,

Nought but the sails they had for bield,

The red coats swarming all around,

And yet by chance none of them found.

Then Donald MacLeod he went away,

And was ta’en at Slate in isle of Sky,

By Allan M‘Donald, the laird of Knock,

Who him on board the Furnace took,

Where gen’ral Campbell and Ferguson

For to examine him thus began——

Gen. Was you with the Pretender, or was you no?

Heth was I, quoth Donald, and that you know.

Gen. Do you know what’s bidden for his head?

Thirty thousand pound, a bra’ sum indeed!

Prutish, quo’ Donald, it’s no worth a straw,

Her ain sound conscience is better nor’t a’:

Tho’ I’d got Scotland and England, a’ for my pains,

I wadna see him hurt, for your muckle gains.

And here we’ll leave the Prince a while,

Who hunted was from isle to isle,

O’er hills and mountains, wood and glen,

As afterwards I’ll let you ken.

Poor Edward Burke was left alone,

For now companions had he none,

Lodg’d in a cave for weeks three,

Ate Dulce and Lampets from the sea:

In short, he thought he would turn wild,

Seeing no man, woman, or child;

Till an honest Souter and his wife,

Agreed for to sustain his life,

For two long months, he said, and more,

Some meat each night they to him bore,

Their like was not in all North Uist,

For to pity rebels no man durst:

Because ev’n at that very time,

It had been made a mighty crime,

Read from the pulpits by the priests,

That none should pity man or beasts,

Who had along with Charlie been,

Give them no victuals, nor close their een

In sleep, or warm within a door,

Or excommunicate to be therefore,

Besides, the pains of milit’ry law,

Hanged or shot one of the twa.

Of this act I know not what to say,

Since Solomon speaks another way,

And a great, yea wiser King than he,

Bids us to feed our enemie,

And give him water for to drink:

For me, I know not what to think.

But Burke of all at last got free,

When th’ act of grace gave libertie,

And home to Edinburgh came again,

For’s love to Charles got nought but pain,

Now, the royal Duke, at Inverness,

Did the whole North fully possess,

Encamp’d, and sent his parties out

To burn and plunder round about

All the offenders, who for their crime,

Were severely punish’d at this time.

All those who were loyal and true,

Had some acknowledgement as their due.

He number’d first what he had lost,

And what his signal vict’ry cost.

Lord Robert Ker was ’mong the slain,

A brave captain of Barrel’s men;

Of Price’s reg’ment, captain Grossot

Here did fall, it was his lot,

Captain Campbell of Argyleshire men,

Was likewise found among the slain.

Near six hundred, rank and file, lay there,

Two hundred and forty wounded were.

His sole reflection was, in the chase,

The Pretender’s rout he could not trace,

Any farther than that afternoon,

He drank with Lovat when all was done,

When his very tears mingl’d with wine;

But never could be catch’d sinsyne.

As some ran east, and some ran west,

To south and north in crouds they past;

Some to Argyleshire, through Kintyre,

And into Ireland flew like fire.

Duke William still camp’d in the north,

All was in stir beyond the Forth,

Ports, pass, and ferries guarded,

Who catch’d a rebel was well rewarded.

Few but preachers, at this day,

Were counted righteous in this way:

For where the minister said the word,

To life and liberty they’re restor’d,

Resign their arms, with Mess John’s line

That they were prest for to combine

To go with Charlie, and his crew,

By force control’d—— ’Tis very true,

Most of the common men were prest,

Drove to the slaughter like a beast:

But one thing of Highlanders I see,

To them they serve they’ll faithful be;

For those who serv’d King George, just here,

’Gainst the rebels proved most severe,

And rebels, who afterwards did list,

Loyaller hearts no man could trust:

And, ev’n the conquering of this field,

Unto the English I will not yield:

Had Scots and Irish run away,

They’d found it hard to gain the day;

Yet after all they ’gan to boast,

So this again cemented peace,

Thro’ mediation of his Grace,

Which was indeed a virtuous scheme,

And adds great honour to his name:

For had they once come on to blows,

’T had been the glory of their foes,

And the murd’ring of one another;

But now they’re Britons all together,

And yet the spite ended not here,

As afterwards you’ll come to hear;

But the cause of the Duke’s long stay here,

Was to find out the Chevalier,

As Scotland round by sea was guarded,

If catch’d on land, so high rewarded

The apprehender was to be,

There was no hopes he could get free.

Hesse camps, did at Perth and Stirling stand,

Armed militia through all the land,

And parties searching ev’ry isle:

Being heard of ev’ry other while,

They still kept on a close pursuing,

Hard was the hunt for Charlie’s ruin.

All prisoners, they catch’d, of note,

On ship-board were securely put,

And to England sent, trial to stand,

But deserters judg’d were in Scotland,

Who had as soldiers with Charlie gone,

They hang’d and shot them every one:

For Hawley’s verdict was so quick,

For all who did from the soldiers fly,

Were fir’d upon immediately,

By which, many a poor innocent

Was put to death, by them unkent,

Their flying away caus’d the error,

The red-coats were to them a terror.

Now Charles concealed was in Uist,

And there to stay no longer durst,

The Campbells were coming a ho, a ho,

He durst not bide, and could not go:

Every day he saw them well,

And had none with him but O’Neil.

The day was long and hot the sun,

About the twenty first of June,

Upon a mountain top they lay,

And saw their motions ev’ry way,

From glen to glen, caves and rocks,

As ever hounds did search for fox,

Campbells, and lads with the red coat,

With them guides knew every spot,

And corner of that country side;

So here it dang’rous was to bide.

But in a desart place remote,

They found a lonely dismal hut,

And there to stay they judged best,

Until part of the hurry past.

Such venison as they could take,

Of ev’ry thing a prey they make:

It was not out of cov’tous greed;

But only as they stood in need.

O’Neil alone was out at last,

To hear of what was done or past,

And met a lady whom he knew,

Miss MacDonald good and true,

To her their straits he did reveal,

Who did with tears their sorrows feel,

And vow’d by all was dear within her,

She’d them relieve, if they should skin her:

Then hasten’d O’Neil to him away,

Appointing where to meet next day,

And to the Prince with him did go,

Her servant did the secret know,

One Neil MacKechnie, an honest heart,

Then to Clan Ronald’s house they came,

And let the lady know the same,

Where ev’ry thing in haste was got,

Apron, gown, and a petticoat:

Of printed cotton the gown it was,

Just fitting for a servant lass:

Then to the hut they went away,

To get him drest without delay;

And as they entred into the door

They found their Prince, surpriz’d him sore,

A cooking something for to eat,

A sheep’s pluck on a wooden spit.

That night they stayed all in the hut,

Ere ev’ry thing was ready got,

And on the morrow a message came

For lady Clan-Ronald, in haste extreme,

That cap. Ferguson, with Campbell’s men,

Did all night in her house remain.

And to confirm what they had said,

The Captain took up her own bed.

Now Charles by this time was drest,

Like a Dutch frow, I do protest,

His brogues, indeed, had leather heels,

And beard, well shaven, all conceals;

But gown and petticoat so short,

Shew’d too much legs, but no help for’t.

He of the lady took his leave,

And left O’Neil behind to grieve,

Who thro’ the world with him would go;

But Flora said it would not do:

Because their pass that number bore,

And one too much was not secure,

Herself, her servant, and Betty Burke,

Who was going to her mother’s work.

The boat’s prepar’d, away they set;

But lady Clan-Ronald was in a strait:

For soon as she had reached home,

Was strict examin’d by Ferguson——

Pray where now, Madam, have you been,

Seeing a sick child, a dying frien’;

My servants might have told the matter;

But the child now is somewhat better.

For this no proof was but her lips,

Now poor O’Neil was left alone,

And through the hills a wand’ring gone,

By chance he met with Sullivan;

As on the shore they both did stan’

A French cutter came in their sight,

With pendent flying, colours bright,

O’Neil her hail’d, and to she came,

To fetch the Prince was all her aim.

O’Neil desir’d them there to stay,

And he to bring him back wou’d try:

Then off he sets along the shore,

A trav’lling for a day or more,

As the wind had contrary been,

Into some creek they might be seen:

But finding he was gone for Sky,

He thought to touch there going by,

Knowing the secret, the way plann’d,

The very place he was to land.

Night and day he did not spare,

Back to the cutter he did repair;

But ere he came she was away,

Sullivan would no longer stay:

For’s life was preciouser to him,

Than all the princes in Christendom.

He saw some ships afar at sea,

Then pray’d the French with him to flee:

But had they got O’Neil on board,

From Sky the Prince had been secur’d;

Yet here O’Neil was left behind,

Who soon was taken and confin’d,

Sullivan was got home before him,

The cow’rdliest cur in all the quorum:

For had he staid three hours in Uist,

They’d carry’d their Prince safe off the coast:

For O’Neil would made them touch at Sky,

The very place which they past by,

Where he knew the Prince was to ’bide:

But Sullivan sav’d his own hide,

And with all speed went home to France,

Left them behind to Providence.

As the Prince, Miss Flora and her man,

Were just about to quit the land,

Four king’s wherries came in their view,

Where armed men were not a few:

Back to the heather they’re forc’d to fly,

And there some time conceal’d to ly,

These wherries soon went out of sight,

And then came on a pleasant night,

Their boat ready they put to sea;

But were not gone past leagues three,

’Till dark and dismal grew the skies,

The wind and waves did dreadful rise,

In open boat, no compass had,

Only two men, whose skill was bad.

Here Charles’ courage was at a stand,

Tempests by sea and storms by land;

For wind and wave did fight again’ him

And nothing seemed to befrien’ him.

Miss Flora she fell fast asleep,

The rest by oars and helm did keep,

And when the day light did appear,

They knew not to what hand to steer,

The wind had vary’d in the night:

Now Kingsborough did Raaza send

To meet the Prince, and be his friend,

With sev’ral of his trusties there,

Who in his expeditions were,

Both at Culloden and Falkirk.

To Portree came when it was dark,

Both John MacKenzie and Donald Frier,

Who had been with him far and near,

They set off in a little boat,

And safely into Glam all got:

In a mean hut their dwelling made,

For kid and lamb young Raaza gade:

There was no bedding to be found,

They’re oblig’d to lie upon the ground:

His pillow was a wisp of Ling:

Now Ferguson got the sure tract

From the two men, as they went back,

Who did him and Miss Flora bring

Out of Uist, and everything,

His coat, his mutch, his very gown,

From whence they came, and whither boun’,

How Malton’s daughter and Kingsborough too,

Went all together out of their view.

Then Ferg’son with a party came

To Kingsb’ro’s house, and did deman’,

Which way the young Pretender went?

Where he and Miss Flora were sent?

Whether they lay in one bed together?

What clothes he came in, or went thither?

Few answers to him Kingsb’rough made:

What! said his wife, “Miss Flora’s maid,

“They staid all night and went away,

“Whether man or woman was I to try?”

Then, said he, Show where they were laid,

Where lay the Miss? where lay the maid?

Now then, quoth he, I have you fast:

Because the maid’s bed is the best.

Then Kingsborough away was led

To Fort-Augustus, hard bestead,

Plunder’d of’s watch, buckles and shoes,

And all the cash was in his trews,

In a dungeon deep, iron’d he lay,

Thence to Ed’nburgh castle sent away,

And there confin’d was kept one year,

Till by the Act of Grace set clear.

For love of Charlie he got this,

And poor Miss Flora no better was:

For she was scarce ten days at home,

Until she got a card to come

The gen’ral then had nought to say;

But gave her leave, on the next day,

Of her friends to go and take farewel;

Her mother heart-sore grief did feel:

An officer and forty men

Did guard her there, and back again.

Then she unto the Nore was sent,

Five months on sea, where no friend kent,

At last to London was convey’d,

There with a messenger to bide,

Till the month of July Forty Seven,

That she was home to Edinburgh driv’n,

When by the Act of Grace reliev’d,

Now Charles at Glam, in Raaza lay,

Long, long he thought to get away,

Hard was his living, poor his hut,

Upon all heights they watches put.

A stranger to this island came

To sell tobacco, perhaps a sham;

For after all his roll was sold,

He daily through the island stroll’d,

And to the hut one day drew nigh;

Then Raaza swore he was a spy,

And cockt his pistol, him to shoot,

The Prince cry’d, No, You shall not do’t.

That poor man may innocent be,

Without a fault he shall not die.

The poor man then went stepping by,

And did not ev’n look to their stye.

Now, said the Prince, what would ye said,

If innocent blood had here been shed?

Too much, indeed, on my account:

At this some seem’d to take affront;

Yet as a joke he past it by,

And then propos’d to go for Sky,

In the small boat which brought them there,

So for the voy’ge they did prepare.

Toward ev’ning they put to sea,

And then the wind rose wond’rous high,

The boatmen begg’d to put about;

But he was obst’nate on his rout,

And told them life was but a chance,

They were in hands of Providence:

He leav’d the water with a scoop,

And bid them in their Maker hope,

The boat is making a good way,

No man will die but him that’s fey,

We’ve all in dangers been ere now:

At Nicolson’s rock they brought her to,

So here they did remain next day,

Before they could venture away,

Having no bread, or ought to eat,

(For a King’s Court, a poor mean treat!)

Except water, sprung from the ground,

No meat or drink could there be found.

Two bottles of brandy was all their store,

On earth they had no substance more,

Nor in that place durst one look out

For en’mies planted round about.

When night came on, they parted all,

Captain MacLeod we shall him call,

Did undertake to be his guide,

One bottle of brandy by his side,

Over muir and mountain, wood and glen,

Between hope and despair they ran.

The Prince as servant did appear;

Because he did the baggage bear,

A hairy wallet on his back,

Just like a chapman and his pack,

Wanting the breiks, with legs all bare,

Now were they come unto the place,

Where Malcom’s sister married was

To John MacKinnon, who’d captain been

Along with Charles in armour keen;

But had got clear by Proclamation,

And for to skulk had no occasion.

He orders the Prince, now Lewis Cawe,

For to ly down some space awa’,

While he into his sister’s went,

Their doleful case to represent.

She him embrac’d, and wept amain,

As in the war she thought him slain:

He said, dear sister, here I’m come

Myself to hide, if you have room,

When his sister knew what guest he was,

Her kindness she did the more express,

And said, Upon her very knees

She’d travel for to give him ease.

They then to consultation went,

To get him to the Continent:

Because the isles were dangerous,

Soldiers searching every bush.

John then unto the laird he went,

To try how his affection bent,

By long-wind stories laments his case,

In being hunted from place to place.

Oh, said the laird, were he now here,

I’d lay my life to get him clear,

And set him safe on the main land.

Then John he told him, clean off hand,

Where he was, and in what place,

And to his conscience left his case.

Go tell him, I’ll be with him soon,

To see what quickly shall be done.

John went home, the laird soon came,

With loyal affections, as chief o’s Clan,

And told, that for him he did provide

A good stout boat, pilot and guide,

That he himself design’d to go

To the main land with him also,

A thousand blessings on him prays,

And wish’d him long and happy days.

Then Malcom said, he would return,

So to the boat they all did go,

Which lay upon the shore below:

And as to it they did draw near,

Two men of war there did appear,

Came cruising in before the wind,

Hard on the shore, as they design’d,

Which caused them to sit down a space,

And smoak a pipe in a hollow place.

A silver stock-buckle to Malcom he geid,

And ten guineas too in his loof he laid,

Which he did often times refuse;

But begg’d some trifle that he did use;

Then, said he, Captain, Your pay’s too cheap,

Besides, you will have my cutty pipe,

And when you blow’t, you’ll think on me,

As I have got another you see:

And take these lines to Murdoch MacLeod,

To pay respect to him I’m proud.

Now, the men of war being out of sight,

On the eighth of July, at eight at night,

The laird of MacKinnon, John by name,

With a pilot, guide, and four boat-men,

All on board with him they went,

To carry him to the Continent.

The night indeed was fair and clear;

But not above a mile they were,

Till wind and waves did rise in ire,

This providence we may admire,

Which seemed to be frowning on him,

The very waves striving to drown him,

And on their boat, came straight a-head,

A boat with men all well armed:

But the sea was high, the wind so blew,

And nought but present death in view,

They hail’d each other, and that was all,

It was no time to search or call:

Had not this storm proved their frien’,

He’d surely in their clutches been.

And when they reached the main land,

Now Charlie went to Glen-Brasdale,

Where he heard tell of brave Lochiel,

Who about Loch-aber was lurking there;

But to get to him great dangers were:

As a line was form’d from Inverness,

Which reached to Fort-Augustus,

From thence unto Fort-William again,

Night and day stood armed men.

The word, in a few minutes, did wheel,

From end to end, All is well;

And from Fort-William to Locharkaig-head,

Another line was likewise made.

Thus he did in Glen-Brasdale ly,

Till circled almost every way.

One day, as they a travelling were,

Over a desart mountain there,

Glenaladale chanc’d to lose his purse,

With forty guineas which in it was,

And money behind it they had none,

The Prince’s being spent and gone.

While Glen. return’d his purse to seek,

Charlie lay down at a bush cheek,

And there appear’d unto his view,

A band of soldiers not a few,

Just upon that very spot

Where they had met, were’t not the lot

Of turning for that very purse

Kept them from what had been much worse.

So, close he lay, slie as a tod,

Being at some distance from the road,

And saw them take another rout,

At last, they chanced for to spy

A little smoking hut, near by:

Then said the Prince, Thither I’ll go,

Whether they should prove friend or foe:

Better for us be kill’d like men,

Than starved like fools: What say’st thou Glen?

Yet Glen refus’d, and said, I fear,

They may be King’s-men watching here:

But in the Prince goes to the hut,

Which them in some confusion put;

Six sturdy thieves resided there,

Who at their dinner sitting were,

At a weighty piece of boiled beef,

For hungry men a blest relief.

Peace be here, the Prince did cry,

You’re welcome, sir, they did reply;

One star’d at him, then up he flew,

Ah Dougal MacColony, is this you?

I’m glad to see thee, with all my heart,

Sit down with us and take a part.

By winks, he found that he was known,

Return’d him thanks, and then sat down,

Ate hearty, and seem’d very merry,

Talk’d of the times, found by enquiry,

That ev’ry one spake as his frien’,

And had all at Culloden been;

The Duke thought now the work was done,

When Charlie’s head was to him shown;

Call’d in all out upon command,

And caus’d the militia to disband;

The ships of war went to the south

And Charles’ death did pass for truth.

He then for London took his rout,

On July eighteenth did set out,

As brave Culcairn had sent him word

Of Lochiel’s death, ev’n as absurd——

Now, the Prince into Loch-aber went,

The seat of Lochiel, where he was bent

To know if he in life might be,

As word of’s death o’er all did flee,

And the Prince’s death so struck Lochiel,

That neither did bemoan himsel;

But each lamented for the other,

And wept as one would for a mother:

But when they heard both were alive,

To meet in haste they did contrive,

Being only twenty miles between,

His brother, the doctor, did them conveen,

With the other brother, John the priest,

About this time from Dunkirk came

Sixty gentlemen, who in a band

As volunteers had freely join’d,

To bring him from the British ground.

At Polliver, in Seaforth’s country,

Four of them landed privately,

The rest, on sea, kept hov’ring round;

And left a signal, how to be found,

And where they were for to bring to:

These were their orders how to do.

Soon after two of them were ta’en,

One Fitzgerald, called by name,

An officer belong’d to Spain,

Was hanged up at Fort-William,

Proven to be a Flander’s spy,

Judg’d for same end, he came that way.

The other was Monsuer de Berards,

An officer of the French guards,

Who from the gallows was befrien’d,

And by cartel again redeem’d.

The other two wandered about,

Till Lochgarie sent, and found them out;

Strangers they seem’d, but who could know

Whether that they were friend or foe?

Captain MacRow did them invite,

At Lochgarie’s with him to meet,

To him they plainly did unfold

Lochgarie judg’d they might be spies,

Strove to be cautious and wise,

First he sent them to Lochiel,

With what suspicion he had himsel:

Lochiel order’d the Prince to come in,

Under the name of Captain Drummond,

As they the Prince did never see,

He told them where the two should be,

Bade him a letter bring, as from him come,

To tell their secrets unto him,

And this the Prince actually did,

Met in a hut, built in a wood,

And kept converse with them a day,

Then to meet Lochiel went on his way,

For to consult what might be done,

Out of Scotland once for to win:

For the small ship the Frenchmen left,

Quite off the coast were, all abaft,

And never did at all appear:

But forc’d homeward with dread to steer,

And the officers, as I heard tell,

Were kept, by orders of Lochiel,

Most secretly into a hut,

Until a ship was ready got.

While the Prince yet at Clun’s hut lay,

One morning, early of the day,

A child of Clun’s came running in,

Crying, “O-hon! the red coats and the gun!”

Which caus’d them hurry out and see

A party coming, and that right nigh:

Cluny, John Cameron and his son

Into the wood did quickly run.

Now col’nel Warren had got to France,

And brought a privateer from Nantz,

With three hundred and forty men,

Well arm’d, with thirty guns and ten

Of carr’ge and swivels which she bore,

The best sailer he could procure,

The Bellona, of St. Maloes by name,

To anchor in Loch Moidart came,

And here the col’nel came on shore,

To a house where he had been before,

About the Prince for to enquire,

Thus on September the twenti’th day,

He from Loch-Moidart sail’d away,

The wind was low, the waves were kind,

To clear the land they much inclin’d,

No tempests rag’d as in times before,

As now the blast of Fate was o’er,

No foes on sea did them perplex,

Till safe at Roscort, near Morlaix,

They on the twenty-ninth did land,

Poor Charlie and his broken band,

While he at Paris did reside,

Were silver and copper medals made,

With an inscription thus exprest,

“Carolus Walliae Princeps.”

This in letters round the head,

On the reverse Britannia, read,

Then ships with this motto you’d see,

“Amor et Spes Britanniae.”

This did offend the French grandees,

And did the King himself displease:

It did inform them, that he thought,

His pay was poor for what he wrought.

So here we leave him now to rest,

And view his friends sorely distrest,

And brought to desolation,

Through this deluding cause alone:

Now when this campaign ended was,

Troops did to winter quarters pass,

Hessians set out for Germany,

And at Burnt island put to sea,

Where some other reg’ments also went,

The Flanders war being still extant.

Poor Scotland yet did sigh and moan,

Because her suff’rings were not gone,

A time of trial for her deeds,

Where many lost their hearts and heads.

The mildest was Kensington muir,

Not far from London to be sure,

Seventeen officers by the neck

Were hung like dogs, without respect:

No clergy benefit, or Psalms at a’,

Cheer’d by the mob with loud huzza:

Elev’n at York, shar’d the same fate:

Seven at Penrith, thus too were treat:

Six at Brampton likewise fell:

And nine were butcher’d at Carlisle:

Many were sent to the Plantations,

To live among the savage nations,

Which indeed was a milder act,

Than what is in the following tract,

Of these poor souls at Carlisle,

Now the trials were brought on,

Of the Chiefs who had with Charlie gone,

My lord Kilmarnock and Cromartie,

In Westminster-Hall judged to be,

Lord Lovat and Balmerino,

One Mr. Ratcliff indicted also

Before their peers, for high treason,

Were to the bar brought, one by one,

Lord Kilmarnock did first appear,

Who humbly own’d his guilt was clear,

Confess’d his folly, and heinousness,

How obnoxious to punishment he was.

For offences of so deep a dye,

Begg’d they’d interceed with’s Majesty,

That the unshaken fidelitie

Of’s ancestors should remembred be,

His father having been a steady one,

In promoting the Revolution,

Took active measures to secure

The protestant succession to endure,

Which keeps the kingdoms quiet and firm,

From arbitrary and Popish harm:

This was well known for certain truth.

His own ev’ry action from his youth,

Upon the strictest enquiry

The earl of Cromartie came next,

While all their eyes were on him fixt,

He begg’d their lordships for to hear,

How ungrateful guilt brought him there,

Which justly merited indignation,

Of his Majesty, and all the nation.

The treasonable offence, said he,

He’d ne’er attempt to justifie,

His plea did on their compassion ly,

And his Majesty’s royal clemency:

Appeal’d to his conduct in time bygone,

Ere that unhappy Rebellion.

Witness the commander at Inverness,

And the lord President Forbes,

Who knew his acts and loyal ways,

Till seduc’d by designing phrase:

His awful remorse, made him to fret

Severely now, Alas! too late,

Life and fortune valu’d not at all,

But his loving wife, now drown’d in gall,

With a babe unborn, of children eight,

All brought to a most mournful plight,

His eldest son with these must drie

The penalties of his miserie,

“Let these Objects of mercy be

“Known to his most gracious Majestie,

“Let innocent children now produce

“Bowels of pity in this house,

“As men of honour be men of feeling,

“My griefs to you needs no revealing.”

He pled his blood might quench his crime,

That their inn’cence should be kept in mind,

That those to mis’ry should not be brought,

Who of his guilt had never thought:

Since public justice would not let pass

From him that cup of bitterness,

Desir’d their Lordships to go on,

Then Balmerino next came on,

Who, as friend or foe, regarded none;

But star’d about, and look’d as bold,

As he had been judge, that court to hold,

And ’gainst them mov’d a point of law,

His indictment was not worth a straw,

As being in the county of Surry founded,

For acts of treason in Scotland grounded:

Therefore should be in Scotland try’d;

But this the House of Lords deny’d,

And said, The British Parliament

Rul’d over all the king’s extent:

Therefore he’s forc’d to wave his plea;

But not a fig regarded he,

As mercy he scorn’d for to crave.

Then all three sentence did receive,

“To be beheaded on Tower-hill,

(A humble bow they gave there-till,)

“On the eighteenth August, Forty-Six,

“Their heads be sever’d by an ax,

“Quite from their bodies, on open stage,

“To lose both life and heritage,

“Their estates forfeit to the crown.”

Which makes the babes unborn frown

And parents folly to lament.

So to the Tow’r they all were sent,

For to prepare for their exit,

And with a greater Judge to meet.

Kilmarnock was as a Christian mov’d,

The time though short he well improv’d.

Balmerino took little thought,

As by the Sacrament all was bought,

And the externals of the book,

His persuasion did no farther look.

When the Dead-warrant was to him sent,

To Cromartie they did present

On the next day, the stage being erect,

All rail’d about and hung with black,

A thousand foot-guards march’d theretil,

And form’d betwixt the Tow’r and hill.

The stage within the line enclos’d,

A full free passage so compos’d,

The horse Grenadiers posted without,

As to awe the crowd they were more stout,

Thus was it fixt right near until

About the hour of ten o’clock,

Upon the stage they fixt the block,

Which cover’d also was with black,

And of saw dust had several sack,

For to sprinkle upon the blood,

Being judged for that purpose good:

Their covered coffins within the rails,

Ornamented with gilded nails,

And plates, with their inscription,

Were fixed upon ev’ry one—

’Twas thus upon Kilmarnock’s plate,

In Capital Letters engraved,

Gulielmus Comes de Kilmarnock,

Decollatus 18mo. Augusti,

Anno Dom, M, DCC, XLVI.

Aetat. Suae, XLII.

His Coronet was thereto added,

Upon the plates likewise engraved,

And Balmerino’s inscription,

Was deeply grav’d the plate upon.

Arthurus Dominus de Balmerino,

Decollatus 18mo. Augusti,

Anno Dom, M, DCC, XLVI.

Aetat. Suae LVIII.

Thus plac’d in a conspicuous light,

With a Baron’s coronet shining bright.

Then after ten, near half an hour,

The two Sheriffs went to the Tow’r,

Knock’d at the gate, the Porter cry’d,

What do you want? They then reply’d,

The bodies of these Lords two,

Kilmarnock and Balmerino.

The Lieutenants and his Wardens brought

These two Lords for whom they sought,

And as they past out from the Tower,

(’Tis usually said as they leave the door,)

God bless King George, the Warder cry’d,

God bless K——g J——s, Balmerino reply’d,

But Kilmarnock made a humble bow,

For Balmerino, seem’d nought to rue,

His regimentals and all was on,

The same as he had at Culloden.

Now, this procession slowly steers,

Under a guard of musqueteers,

The Sheriffs and their officers,

Tow’r-hamlets and tip-staves in pairs,

Two hearses and a mourning coach,

All to the scaffold did approach,

Three clergymen were there also,

The one with Balmerino

Was of the Episcopalian strain,

Th’ others were Presbyterian men,

Who had of late from Scotland come,

Their names were Forester and Hume,

They did upon Kilmarnock wait,

Assisting in his last exit.

Unto the tavern first they went,

Where some time in devotion spent,

And taking of their friends farewel

Tears did anguish and grief reveal:

As to the tavern they did go,

Some ask’d, Which is Balmerino?

He turn’d about and smiling says,

I’m Balmerino, if you please.

In the inn they’re put in sep’rate rooms,

Where mourning was, and heavy moans.

Then Balmerino he did require

A conference with Kilmarnock there.

Then said, “My Lord, before we go,

Kilmarnock some time in pray’r spent,

While tears did flow from all present,

Then took a glass to cool his heart,

Before he did the room depart.

The warrand him mention’d first to go,

And being inform’d it must be so,

Then to the stage he did approach,

Seeing the hearse, coffins, mourning coach,

The dreadful block, edg’d instrument,

With the executioner and crowd’s lament,

He paus’d a while, and thus said he,

O Hume, ’tis terrible this to me!

Then for the block he did prepare,

His gentleman ty’d up his hair,

Took off the bag and the big coat,

His neck made bare all ’round the throat,

On a black cushion he kneel’d down,

While friends stood weeping all around:

The mournings off the rails they threw,

That all around might have a view,

His neck right on the block it lay,

Thus did a brave Lord end his days,

Whose head was kept upon red baize,

And with his body in coffin laid,

By Forester with his servants aid,

Which quickly to the hearse they bore,

And clear’d the block and stage of gore,

By sprinkling fresh saw-dust thereon,

That sign of slaughter there was none.

Then Balmerino he came forth,

Like a bold hero from the North,

Who of death itself was not afraid,

At least, he show’d but small regard,

Cloth’d in his regimental Blue,

Trimmed with gold, a warlike hue.

He pray’d to God, and mercy sought;

But fear of men was past his thought:

Drank to’s friends ere he left the room,

And charg’d them all for to drink round,

Ain degree to heaven for me

And wish’d them better times to see:

Then said, Gentlemen a long adieu,

I’m detaining both myself and you.

Then to the scaffold he went full brief,

No signs of sorrow, fear or grief,

And round it walk’d a turn or two,

Where he saw acquaintance, gave a bow:

The inscription on his coffin read,

Said, That is right, and shook his head.

The block he call’d, His pillow of rest,

And said, That ax has been well drest,

The executioner’s shoulder did clap,

And said, My friend, give a free chap,

Next Charles Ratcliff was execute

For an old heroic exploit,

In the rebellious year fifteen,

Had with his brother at Preston been,

James the Earl of Derwentwater,

Who likewise suffer’d for the matter.

About thirty years before,

He lost his life and land therefore,

This Charles too was condemned;

But he from Newgate safely fled,

By slipping through a private door,

Along with other thirteen more,

Who by good fortune had the chance,

For to get safe away to France:

And he with King James went to Rome,

And zealous Papist did become.

In Roman faith he liv’d and pray’d,

And in that sort of faith he dy’d:

All seeming repentance he declin’d

As in Purgatory to be refin’d:

And had salvation so a cooking,

As to think no more of death than ducking,

Being so stout a Pope’s believer,

Went to death as he would swim a river;

The priest’ clear’d all the passes for him,

Invok’d the saints full well to store him:

So in his death there were no bands,

Although his neck did feel some pains.

He smil’d his coffin to look upon,

Whereon was this inscription,

Carolus Comes de Derwentwater,

Decollatus Die 8vo Decembris,

MDCCXLVI. Aetatis LIII.

Requiescat in pace.

After the cutting off the head,

His corpse were in the coffin laid,

And carry’d back into the Tow’r,

Where they lay till th’ eleventh hour,

That a procession of mourning coaches,

Unto St. Giles with him approaches,

To the Earl of Derwentwater’s grave;

And here poor Ratcliff we shall leave.

Now comes Lord Lovat, an aged man,

And Chief of all the Frazer’s Clan,

Was next before his Peers try’d,

Most of th’ impeachments he deny’d,

Half dead with age, and almost deaf,

Which did them plague, and caus’d mischief:

Yet his servants were witness led

Of every deed done and said,

In supporting the rebellious way,

And so their proof bore heavy sway,

What Charles drank that afternoon,

When from Culloden he did run.

Then for his life was no remead,

He was condemn’d to lose his head,

Which he bore in a heroic way,

As an ancient Roman thus did say,

Dulce et decorum pro patria mori,

’Tis sweet and glorious a patriot to die.

The proof was strong, though he deny’d,

His letters also were apply’d,

Which he to Lord President sent,

When he advis’d him to repent,

And recal his son and men again,

Which counsel he held all in vain,

Saying, He had six hundred Frazers got,

To this the Duke no answer gave,

’Tis like, he wish’d him in his grave.

A zealous Roman did to him write,

And had in him so great delight,

That he offer’d to suffer in his stead,

Whereat he smil’d, and jeering said,

This man’s contrair Scripture, I see,

For a righteous man one’ll hardly die:

When to the scaffold he was born,

He looked round the croud with scorn:

Preserve me Sirs, then did he say,

What’s brought a thir fowk here the day?

To see an auld grey head cut aff,

That canna gang, no wi’ a staff,

But maun be born here by men,

The like o’ this we ne’er did ken.

Then view’d the hatchet and the block,

Said, a strange way of killing fowk,

To th’ executioner, said he too,

There’s nae man works, friend, after you,

But you’ll have a kittle job of me,

My neck’s sae short, strike cannilie,

Here’s a bit purse, gi’t a guid drive,

I needna wish your trade to thrive.

Then fell a scaffold which rais’d a roar,

He did enquire the cause therefore:

They said, A scaffold’s fall’n, and many kill’d.

“A-weel, said he, Their time’s fulfill’d,

“I thought, this day, to dy’d my lane:

“But the best of fowk will be mistane:

“I cannot say, I am sorry for’t,

“For the mair mischief, the better sport.”

Then after Ave Maria and pray’r,

With Salve Regina, in a heroic air,

He laid his head upon the block,

And there receiv’d the fatal stroke,

In the eighty-third year of his age,

Thus dy’d on Tow’r-hill, on open stage,

Old Simon Frazer, Lord Lovat,

’Gainst rebellious Plots a Caveat.

Now France was hemm’d on ev’ry side,

And Charles’ reward was humbling’s pride.

By sea, by land, poor France was done;

She begg’d for peace to draw her win.

No ship durst from her harbours steer,

Man of war, merchant, or privateer,

Her trade was stopt by sea and land,

Bold Britain did the seas command:

She sued for peace at any price,

But Charles’ affairs made it right nice.

At Aix la Chapelle did the Congress hold,

And when Charles thereof was told,

He protested ’gainst what might be done,

In prejudice of his pretension:

For all his titles he would keep still,

Let Britain and France do what they will:

And this perplexed Lewis sore,

And anger’d Britain still the more,

So with France no peace there could be made,

While She the Pretender harboured:

France durst not on her part say No,

Lest she should get the fatal blow.

Britain now ask what you will,

France can promise and not fulfil.

The Articles were all agreed,

But neither sign’d nor ratify’d,

Until poor Charlie was sent away,

Which he postponed every day,

And instead of hastening to go,

He gave the King’s gold-smith to know,

That he wanted a service of plate,

On this the King wrote straight to Rome,

To advise what plan he might assume.

The Pope and Pretender did approve,

That Charles should from France remove.

As the King for him would provide,

At Tribourg, a palace to reside,

On what yearly pension he should demand,

Sent him a Blank from his own hand,

To name the sum though e’er so high,

Sign’d by’s most Christian Majesty.

The Duke de Graves with it was sent,

Who begg’d he’d write the sum’s content

Into the Blank with his own pen,

But down he threw it with disdain,

Saying, Bills and Bonds will seem but froth,

Your Ministry, cry’d he, with disdain,

You’ll oblige me, tell your King and them,

I’m born, I trust their schemes to break,

And how to do’t, I could direct;

But, I hope, the time will soon draw on,

When that good work it will be done.

About this time from London came,

Two hostages of worthy fame,

As pledges of the peace to be,

And Articles to ratifie,

While the French had none to London sent:

At which the Prince a squib did vent,

What! is Britain conquer’d, he did say,

That their hostages are here away?

And is French Faith so current grown,

That hostages they ask for none?

This league shall yet like poor mine go,

Which was sworn to a few years ago.

This did the Ministry enrage,

And nought’s for Charlie but the cage,

As the scheme was fully contriv’d,

A courier from Rome arriv’d,

Where the Pope and old Pretender too

Did his whole conduct disavow,

Ord’ring him forthwith to retire,

To which he yet gave a deaf ear;

Then by the King an order’s sign’d,

Directly to have him confin’d,

Twelve hundred guards did close parade,

Horse and grenadiers were had

All armed and Cap-a-pee,

Set round the Opera carefullie,

The Duke de Biron had command,

But loth to take the deed in hand;

Caus’d Major Venderville execute,

Who did not with much honour do’t.

Six lusty ruffians were prepar’d,

Who waiting stood within the guard,

And as he entred the Opera door,

They seiz’d him fast, and squeezed sore

His hands and arms in the squabble,

The guards around kept off the rabble,

Who had the Prince in great esteem,

And wish’d their help him to redeem,

His servants and each favourite

Were strictly order’d to retreat;

Sword and pistols from him did wrest,

This comes French vows to at the best.

His arms and thighs with cords were knit,

And in a coach they have him set,

With a Major upon every side;

In this posture they made him ride

Unto the castle of Vincennes,

While soldiers guarded all the lanes,

Until that length they did proceed,

As there an uproar was indeed;

For ’mong the croud it was current told,

That he was to the English sold:

Some said this, and some said that,

Now Charles, If thou want’st more sorrow,

Thou may return if ’twere to-morrow,

I know, the Pulpit and the Press

Were the great means of thy distress,

And thou hadst got no wit to guide it,

No Principle thou had provided.

Hadst thou, like Oliver appear’d

In devout mood, thou might been heard:

But a Prince without a principle!

What thou couldst be, I cannot tell.

The Protestants look’d badly on thee,

So many wicked hang upon thee,

And of thy forbearers, they plainly tell,

Of Popery thou bearst a smell.

Thou trustedst nought to ordination,

But thought to force a crown and nation.

I tell thee, Kings reign not by men,

’Tis a higher pow’r, thou’lt find it plain.

The Pope, the Pagan, and the Turk,

’Tis all by fire and sword they work:

We Quakers are of greater merit.

We conquer none but by the Spirit;

But thou, and each thy like’s a cheat,

That pretend to rule the turns of fate,

And will fight against the great decree,

As of winds and waves would ruler be,——

The Pope pretends to curse and bless,

And yet cannot create a Louse,

By Yea and Nay, the Popes are thieves,

And he’s as stupid that believes

These roguish priests, who pardons sell,

Or yet pray back a soul from hell.

He’s surely of the devil’s kind,

Who thus deludes the vulgar blind;

And who adheres to such a college,

Will be destroy’d for lake of knowledge,

With Beads and Waffers, the Devil’s batter,

Your musty Mass, and Holy Water,

Wherewith ye blind the souls of men,

For to encrease your worldly gain,

Done with pretence of holiness:

O hypocrites, why live ye thus?

You thump, you mump, with face awray,

And at one time ye rob and pray,

Pretend so much to chastitie,

None of your priests can married be,

Yet run like rams, and lead lewd lives,

Ye’re but a pack of venereal thieves:

You practise cuckoldom and whoredom,

That innocents have no freedom,

Dreading the power of curse and bless,

You thus put modesty in distress,

Pretending Miracles and Charms,

To keep from evil spirits harms,

Such as Clover-leaves, and branch of Yew,

And now, dear Charles, how dost thou think,

Such doctrine would in Britain stink,

Into a Presbyterian’s nose,

Or any who good plain sense knows?

Dissenters and we they Quakers call,

Protest, they’re not of Israel,

Who pretend a power to damn or save,

Or bear a rule beyond the grave.

All is given us from above,

And souls are saved by mere love;

But the sp’rit of men, which some hold money,

I term it but the devil’s honey,

Wherewith you blind the ignorant,

And cozen them who hate repent:

But as thou profess no principle,

Thou might have turn’d a What ye will:

But those who no profession own,

Are of kin to the beasts alone:

When that I from my darling pass’d,

My love increas’d like young Leander,

With the parting kiss, the tears fell fast,

Crying, woes my heart that we should sunder.

O’er mountains, glens, and raging seas,

When wind and waves did roar like thunder,

Them I’d encounter again with ease,

That we were ne’er at all to sunder.

O yet I did to Malton go,

And left my darling Swain to wander;

Where was one friend, were fifty foe;

And I myself was then brought under.

By a rude band of bloody hue,

Because I lov’d a young Pretender;

If it were undone, I would it do,

O’er hills and dales, with him I’d wander.

From ship to ship, was toss’d about,

And to the Nore did me surrender;

Crouds of rude hands, I stood them out,

And lov’d none like my young Pretender.[42]

To great London, I came at last,

And still avow’d my passion tender;

Thinking for death I would be cast,

For serving of my young Pretender.

But thanks be to the Georgian race,

And the English laws, I judg’d untender;

For they thought nought of all my case,

Although I lov’d a young Pretender.

They charg’d me to the Highlands go,

For womens’ wit, and strength was slender;

As I ne’er in arms appear’d as foe,

In defence of a young Pretender.

O were my Swain at Malton gate,

Or yet at Sky I’d be his lover;

In spite of all the laws of late,

I would call him sweet darling Rover.

Now gentle readers, I have let you ken,

My very thoughts, from heart and pen,

’Tis needless now for to conten,

Or yet controule,

For there’s not a word o’t I can men’,

So ye must thole.

For on both sides, some were not good,

I saw them murd’ring in cold blood,

Not th’ gentlemen, but wild and rude,

The baser sort,

Who to the wounded had no mood,

But murd’ring sport.

Ev’n both at Preston and Falkirk,

That fatal night ere it grew mirk,

Piercing the wounded with their durk,

Caus’d many cry,

Such pity’s shown from Savage and Turk,

As peace to die.

A woe be to such a hot zeal,

To smite the wounded on the fiel’,

It’s just they get such groats in kail,

Who do the same,

It only teaches cruelty’s real,

To them again.

I’ve seen the men call’d Highland Rogues,

With Lowland men, make shange a brogs,

Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs

Out at the door,

Take cocks, hens, sheep and hogs,

And pay nought for.

I see’d a Highlander, ’twas right drole,

With a string of puddings, hung on a pole,

Whip’d o’er his shoulder, skipp’d like a fole,

Caus’d Maggy bann,

Lap o’er the midden and midden-hole,

And aff he ran.

When check’d for this, they’d often tell ye,

Indeed her nainsel’s a tume belly.

You’ll no gi’et wanting bought, nor sell me,

Hersel will haet,

Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy’s Willie,

I’ll hae a meat.

I see’d the soldiers at Linton-brig,

Because the man was not a Whig,

Of meat and drink, leave not a skig

Within his door,

They burnt his very hat and wig,

And thumpt him sore.

And thro’ the Highlands they were so rude,

As leave them neither clothes nor food,

Then burnt their houses to conclude,

’Twas tit for tat,

How can her nainsel’ ere be good,

To think on that.

And after all, O shame and grief,

To use some worse than murd’ring thief,

Their very gentlemen and chief,

Unhumanly,

Like Popish tortures, I belief,

Such cruelty.

Ev’n what was act on open stage,

At Carlisle in the hottest rage,

When mercy was clapt in a cage,

And pity dead,

Such cru’lty approv’d by every age,

I shook my head.

So many to curse, so few to pray,

And some aloud huzza did cry,

They curs’d the Rebel Scots that day,

As they’d been nout

Brought up for slaughter, as that way

Too many rowt.

Therefore, Alas! dear countrymen,

O never do the like again,

To thirst for vengeance, never ben

Your guns nor pa’

But with th’ English, e’en borrow and len,

Let anger fa’.

Their boasts and bullyings, not worth a louse,

As our king’s the best about the house,

’Tis ay good to be sober and douce,

To live in peace,

For many I see, for being o’er crouse,

Gets broken face.

Her nainsel into Glasgow went,

An errand there to see’t,

And she never saw a bonnier town

Standing on her feet.

For a’ the houses that be tere

Was theekit wi’ blue stane,

And a stane ladder to gang up,

No fa’ to break her banes.

I gang upon a stany road,

A street they do him ca’,

And when me seek the chapman’s house,

His name be on the wa’.

I gang to buy a snish tamback,

And standing at the corse,

And tere I see a dead man,

Was riding on his horse.

And O! he be a poor man,

And no hae muny claes,

Te brogues be worn aff his feet,

And me see a’ his taes.[43]

Te horse had up his muckle fit

For to gie me a shap,

And gaping wi’ his great mouth

To grip me by the tap.

He had a staff into his hand,

To fight me an’ he coud,

But hersel be rin awa frae him,

His horse be unco proud.

But I be rin around about,

And stand about the guard,[44]

Where I see the deil chap the hours,

Tan me grew unco feared.[45]

Ohon! Ohon! her nainsel said,

And whare will me go rin?

For yonder be the black man

That bums the fouk for sin.

I’ll no pe stay nae langer tere,

But fast me rin awa,

And see the man thrawin te rapes

Aside te Broomielaw.[46]

An’ O she pe a lang tedder,

I spier’t what they’ll do wi’t,

He said to hang the Highlandmen

For stealing o’ their meat.

Hout, hersel’s an honest shentleman,

I never yet did steal,

But when I meet a muckle purse,

I like it unco weel.

Tan fare ye weel ye saucy fellow,

I fain your skin wad pay;

I cam to your toun the morn but,

An’ I’ll gang out yesterday.

Fan I gang to my quarter-house,

The door was unco braw,

For here they had a cow’s husband,

Was pricked on the wa’.[47]

O tere me got a shapin ale,

An’ ten me got a supper,

A filthy choud o’ chappit meat

Boiled amang a butter.

It was a filthy dirt o’ beef,

His banes was like te horn,

She was a calf wanting the skin,

Before that she was born.

I gang awa into the kirk

To hear a Lawland preach,

And mony a bonny sang they sing,

Tere books they did them teach.

And tere I saw a bonny mattam,

Wi’ feathers on her waim,

I wonder an’ she be gaun to flee,

Or what be in her myn.[48]

Another mattams follow her,

Wha’s arse was round like cogs!

And clitter clatter cries her feet—

She had on iron brogues.[49]

And tere I saw another mattam

Into a tarry seck,

And twa mans pe carry her,

Wi’ rapes about hims neck.

She pe sae fou o’ vanity,

As no gang on the grun,

But twa poor mans pe carry her

In a barrow covert aboon.[50]

Some had a fish-tail to their mouth,[51]

And some pe had a ponnet,

But my Janet and Donald’s wife

Wad rather hae a bannock.

Her sel pe Highland shentleman,

Pe auld as Pothwell prig, man;

And mony alterations seen

Amang the Lawland whig, man.

Fal lal, &c.

First when her to the Lowlands came,

Nain sell was driving cows, man:

There was nae laws about hims narse,

About the breeks or trouse, man.

Fal lal, &c.

Nain sell did wear the philapeg,

The plaid prik’t on her shouder;

The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,

The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder.

Fal lal, &c.

But for whereas these cursed preeks,

Wherewith mans narse be lockit,

O hon, that ere she saw the day!

For a’ her houghs pe prokit.

Fal lal, &c.

Every thing in the Highlands now,

Pe turn’t to alteration;

The sodger dwal at our door cheek,

And that’s te great vexation.

Fal lal, &c.

Scotland be turn’t a Ningland now,

And laws pring on the cadger:

Nain sell wad durk him for hur deeds,

But oh she fears the sodger.

Fal lal, &c.

Another law came after that,

Me never saw the like, man;

They mak a lang road on the crund,

And ca’ him turnimspike, man.

Fal lal, &c.

And wow she pe a ponny road,

Like Louden corn rigs, man;

Whare twa carts may gang on her,

And no break others legs, man.

Fal lal, &c.

They sharge a penny for ilka hors,

In troth they’l be nae sheaper,

For nought but gaen upo’ the crund,

And they gie me a paper.

Fal lal, &c.

They tak the hors then pe the head,

And there they mak them stand, man.

I tell’d them that I seen the day

They had na sic command, man,

Fal lal, &c.

Nae doubts nain-sell maun draw his purs,

And pay them what him’s like, man:

I’ll see a shudgement on his store,

That filthy turnimspike, man.

Fal lal, &c.

But I’ll awa to the Highland hills,

Where nere a ane sall turn her;

And no come near your turnimspike,

Unless it pe to purn her.

Fal lal, &c.

Would you’ll know me, my name it is Tugal M‘Tagger,

She’ll brought hersel’ down frae the braes o’ Lochaber,

To learn her nainsel’ to be praw haberdabber,

Or fine linen-draber, the tane or the twa.

She’ll being a stranger, she’ll look very shy-like:

She’s no weel acquaint wi’ your laigh kintra dialect;

But hoogh! never heed, she’s got plenty o’ Gaelic—

She comes frae ta house at the fit o’ Glendoo.

[But her kilt she’ll exchange for ta praw tandy trowser,

An’ she’ll learn to ta lady to scrap an’ to pow, sir,

An’ say to ta shentlemans—How did you’ll do, sir?

An’ ten she’ll forget her poor friens at Glendoo.

An’ when she’ll pe spoket the laigh kintra jabber,

She’ll gi’e hersel’ out for ta Laird o’ Lochaber,

Shust come for amusements to turn haberdabber,

For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow.][52]

She’ll got a big shop, an’ she’ll turn’d a big dealer;

She was caution hersel’, for they’ll no sought no bailer,

But Tugal M‘Tagger hersel’ mak’s a failure—

They’ll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she’ll not know.

They’ll called a great meeting, she’ll look very quate now,

She’ll fain win awa’, but they’ll tell her to wait now;

They’ll spoket a lang time, ’pout a great estate now:

She’ll thocht that they’ll thocht her the laird o’ Glendoo.

They’ll wrote a long while about a trust deeder,

She’ll no write a word, for hersel’ couldna read her,

They’ll sought compongzition, hoogh, hoogh, never heed her—

There’s no sic a word ’mang the hills o’ Glendoo.

But had she her durk, hersel’ would devour them,

They’ll put her in jail when she’ll stood there before them;

But faith she’ll got out on a hashimanorum,[53]

And now she’s as free as the win’s on Glendoo.

O will you hae the tartan plaid,

Or will you hae ta ring, mattam,

Or will you hae ta kiss o’ me,

And dats ta pretty ting, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I’ll neither kiss, nor hae a ring,

Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald.

O see you not her ponny progues,

Her fecket plaid, plew, creen, mattam,

Her twa short hose, and her twa spiogs,

And a shoulter pelt apoon, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Nae shoulder belts, nae trink abouts,

Nae tartan hose for me, Donald.

Hur can peshaw a petter hough

Tan him wha wears the crown, mattam;

Her sell hae pistol and claymore,

Tae flie ti’ lallant loon, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

For a your houghs and warlike arms,

You’re not a match for me, Donald.

Hur sell hae a short coat pi pote,

No trail my feets at rin, mattam,

A cutty sark of guide harn sheet,

My mitter he pe spin, mattam.

You’s ne’er pe pidden work a turn

At ony kind o’ spin, mattam,

But shug your lenno in a scull,

And tidel highland sing, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your jogging sculls, and highland sang,

Will sound but harsh wi’ me, Donald.

In ta morning, when him rise,

Ye’s get fresh whey for tea, mattam,

Sweet milk an ream, as much you please,

Far sheaper tan pohea, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I wadna quit my morning’s tea;

Your whey will ne’er agree, Donald.

Haper Gallick yes pe learn,

An tats ta ponny speak, mattam,

Ye’s get a cheese, and putter kirn,

Come wi’ me kin ye like, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your Gallick, and your Highland chear,

Will ne’er gae doun wi’ me, Donald.

Fait yes pe ket a silder protch,

Pe pigger as the moon, mattam,

Ye’s ride in curroch stead o’ coach,

And wow put ye’ll pe fine, mattam.

What’s tis ta way tat ye’ll pe kind

To a protty man like me, mattam,

Sae lang claymore pe po my side,

I’ll nefer marry thee, mattam.

O come awa’, run awa’,

O come awa’ wi’ me, Donald,

I wadna quit my Highland man,

Frae Lallands set me free, Donald.