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His heart so kind, his noble mind,

His loyal course without a stain, And choice's fair, all, all declare He'll just be Harry back again.


TUNE-Grant's Rant.

GAE hap an' rowe the feetie o't; Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't; We'll never trow we hae a bairn Unless we hear the greetie o't. Auld fashion'd bodies whine an' tell,

In prophecies precarious,
That our young Charley never will
Be sic a man as Harry was.
Auld Harry was an honest man,

An' nouther flush nor snappy,
An' a' the gear that e'er he wan

Was spent in makin' happy, O.
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.

There grew a tree at our house-end,
We hack'd it down, for fire, O;
An', frae the root, there did ascend
A straughter ane an' higher, O:

Then what's to hinder our young blade,
When sic a simple's shown him, O,
To trace the steps his father gaed,
An' e'en to gang beyon' them, O?
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.

This day we'll chime in canty rhyme
What spirit we wad hae him, ();
An' if he run as he's begun,

Our blessin' aye we'll gie him, 0: We wish him true unto his king,

An' for his country ready, O;
A steady friend, a master kind,

An' nouther blate nor greedy, O.
Gae hap an' rowe, &c.

While he shall grace the noble name,

We'll drink his health in Sherry, O; An' aye this day we'll dance an' play

In reels an' jigs sae merry, 0: But if it's ken'd his actions tend

To ony ill-behavin', O,
This bonny twenty-fourth o' May
In crape we's a' be wavin', O.
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
Gae hap an' rowe the feetie o't;
We' aye believe 'tis but a bairn
If ance we hear the greetie o't.



LET wine gae round, an' music play,
This is the twenty-fourth o' May;
An' on this bonny blythsome day

Our young gudeman was born, laddie,
The Esk shall dance an' Teviot sing,
The Yarrow's bonny banks shall ring,
An' Ettrick's music shall streek her wing,
This day that he was born, laddie.
Born, laddie! born, laddie!

Ilka e'en an' morn, laddie,'
We will bless the happy day
When Charley he was born, laddie.

May health an' happiness attend
The chief, for truth an' honour ken'd!
An' may he never want a friend,

To cheer him when forlorn, laddie!
To him an' his we're a' in debt,
An' lang hae been, an' will be yet;
But may he thrive till we forgot

The day when he was born, laddie;
Born, laddie, &c.

But should he stern misfortune find,
Then may he calmly call to mind,

'Tis but the lot of all mankind

That ever yet were born, laddie.
If pride shall e'er his bosom swell,
An' kindness frae his heart repel,
'Twill mind him, he maun die himsel',
As sure as he was born, laddie.

Born, laddie, &c.


TUNE-Woo'd an' married an' a'.

My name it is Donald Macdonald,

I live in the Highlands sae grand;
I've follow'd our banner, an' will do,
Wharever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me awa;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are neither to conquer or fa'.
Brogs an' brochen an' a'.
Brochen an' brogs an' a',
An' isna the laddie weel aff
Wha has brogs an' brochen an' a?

Short syne we war wonderfu' canty
Our friends an' our country to see;

But since the proud Consul's grown vanity,
We'll meet him by land or by sea.
Wherever a clan is disloyal,

Wherever our king has a foe,
He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald
Wi' his Highlanders all in a row.
Guns an' pistols an' a',

Pistols an' guns an' a';

He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald
Wi' guns an' pistols an' a'.

What though we befriendit young Charlie !
To tell it I dinna think shame;
Poor lad! he came to us but barely,

An' reckon'd our mountain his hame :
'Tis true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a':

For George we'll encounter the devil
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'.

An' O I would eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should he gie up the possession.

We'll soon hae to force them again :
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it war my finishin' blow,

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