Classic Poem

Clavers and his Highlandmen
Came down upon the raw, man;
Who, being stout, gave mony a clout,
The lads began to claw then,
Wi' sword and targe into their hand,
Wi' which they were na slaw, man,
Wi' mony a fearfu' heavy sigh,
The lads began to claw then.

O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stank,
She flang amang them a', man;
The Butter-box got mony knocks;
Their riggings paid for a', then.
They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks,
Which to their grief they saw, man;
Wi' clinkum clankum o'er their crowns,
The lads began to fa', then.

Hur skipp'd about, hur leapt about,
And flang amang them a', man;
The English blades got broken heads,
Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then;
The durk and door made their last hour,
And prov'd their final fa', man;
They thocht the Devil had been there,
That play'd them sic a paw, man.

The solemn league and covenant
Came whigging up the hill, man,
Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bills then;
In Willie's name, they thought nae ane
Durst stop their course at a', man;
But hur nain sell, wi' mony a knock,
Cried: " Furich, Whigs awa, man."

Sir Evan Dhu, and his men true
Came linking up the brink, man;
The Hogan Dutch, they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink then.
The true Maclean, and his fierce men,
Came in amang them a', man;
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand;
A' fled and ran awa then.

Oh on a ri! oh on a ri!
Why should she lose King Shames, man?
Oh rig in di! oh rig in di!
She shall break a' her banes, then;
With furichinish , and stay awhile,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gie a straik out-o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa, then.

Oh, fie for shame, ye're three for ane!
Hur nain sell's won the day, man.
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
Because they ran away, then.
Had bent their brows, like Highland trews,
And make as lang a stay, man,
They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing,
And Willie'd run awa, then.