My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last, When the b.l.o.o.d.y die was cast on the heights of Abram; And I serv'd out my trade when the gallant game was play'd, And the Moro low was laid at the sound of the drum.

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, And there I left for witness an arm and a limb: Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me, I'd clatter on my stamps at the sound of a drum.

And now, tho' I must beg, with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tattered rag hanging over my b.u.m, I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle, and my callet, [trull]

As when I used in scarlet to follow a drum.

What tho' with h.o.a.ry locks I must stand the winter shocks, Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home?

When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'other bottle tell, I could meet a troop of h.e.l.l at the sound of the drum.

Recitativo

He ended; and the kebars sheuk [rafters shook]

Aboon the chorus roar; [Above]

While frighted rattons backward leuk, [rats, look]

An' seek the benmost bore. [inmost hole]

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, [nook]

He skirled out _Encore!_ [shrieked]

But up arose the martial chuck, [darling]

And laid the loud uproar.

Air

TUNE: Sodger Laddie

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, And still my delight is in proper young men; Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de dal, &c.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, Transported I was with my sodger laddie. [soldier]

But the G.o.dly old chaplain left him in a lurch; The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; He risked the soul, and I ventur'd the body,-- then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, I asked no more but a sodger laddie.

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie.

And now I have liv'd--I know not how long, And still I can join in a cup or a song; But whilst with both hands I can hold the gla.s.s steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie!

Recitativo

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk [corner]

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie; [tinker wench]

They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, [took]

Between themselves they were sae busy, At length, wi' drink and courting dizzy, He stoitered up an' made a face; [staggered]

Then turn'd, an' laid a smack on Grizzy, Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace. [Then]

Air

TUNE: Auld Sir Symon

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, [drunk]

Sir Knave is a fool in a session; [court]

He's there but a 'prentice I trow, But I am a fool by profession.

My grannie she bought me a beuk, [book]

And I held awa to the school; [went off]

I fear I my talent misteuk, But what will ye hae of a fool? [have]

For drink I would venture my neck; A hizzie's the half o' my craft; [wench]

But what could ye other expect, Of ane that's avowedly daft? [crazy]

I ance was tied up like a stirk, [bullock]

For civilly swearing and quaffing; I ance was abused i' the kirk, [rebuked]

For touzling a la.s.s i' my daffin. [rumpling, fun]

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's even, I'm tauld, i' the Court, A tumbler ca'd the Premier.

Observ'd ye yon reverend lad Maks faces to tickle the mob?

He rails at our mountebank squad-- It's rivalship just i' the job!

And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith! I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel', [fellow]

Gude Lord! he's far dafter than I.

Recitativo

Then niest outspak a raucle carlin, [next, rough beldam]

Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling. [steal, cash]

For mony a pursie she had hookit, An' had in mony a well been dookit; [ducked]

Her love had been a Highland laddie, But weary fa' the waefu' Woodie! [woe betide, gallows]

Wi' sighs and sobs, she thus began To wail her braw John Highlandman:--

Air

TUNE: O An' Ye Were Dead, Guidman

A Highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn; [Lowland]

But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant braw John Highlandman.

CHORUS

Sing hey, my braw John Highlandman!

Sing ho, my braw John Highlandman!

There's no a lad in a' the lan'

Was match for my John Highlandman.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, [kilt]

And gude claymore down by his side, [two-handed sword]

The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant braw John Highlandman.