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,