Election Ballad For Westerha’
Tune—“Up and waur them a’, Willie.”
The Laddies by the banks o’ Nith Wad trust his Grace1 wi a’, Jamie; But he’ll sair them, as he sair’d the King— Turn tail and rin awa’, Jamie. [Footnote 1: The fourth Duke of Queensberry, who supported the proposal that, during George III’s illness, the Prince of Wales should assume the Government with full prerogative.] Chorus.—Up and waur them a’, Jamie, Up and waur them a’; The Johnstones hae the guidin o’t, Ye turncoat Whigs, awa’! The day he stude his country’s friend, Or gied her faes a claw, Jamie, Or frae puir man a blessin wan, That day the Duke ne’er saw, Jamie. Up and waur them, &c. But wha is he, his country’s boast? Like him there is na twa, Jamie; There’s no a callent tents the kye, But kens o’ Westerha’, Jamie. Up and waur them, &c. To end the wark, here’s Whistlebirk, Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie; And Maxwell true, o’ sterling blue; And we’ll be Johnstones a’, Jamie. Up and waur them, &c.
Prologue Spoken At The Theatre Of Dumfries
On New Year’s Day Evening, 1790. No song nor dance I bring from yon great city, That queens it o’er our taste—the more’s the pity: Tho’ by the bye, abroad why will you roam? Good sense and taste are natives here at home: But not for panegyric I appear, I come to wish you all a good New Year! Old Father Time deputes me here before ye, Not for to preach, but tell his simple story: The sage, grave Ancient cough’d, and bade me say, “You’re one year older this important day,” If wiser too—he hinted some suggestion, But ’twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; And with a would-be roguish leer and wink, Said—“Sutherland, in one word, bid them Think!” Ye sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit, Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, To you the dotard has a deal to say, In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way! He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, That the first blow is ever half the battle; That tho’ some by the skirt may try to snatch him, Yet by the foreclock is the hold to catch him; That whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, You may do miracles by persevering. Last, tho’ not least in love, ye youthful fair, Angelic forms, high Heaven’s peculiar care! To you old Bald-pate smoothes his wrinkled brow, And humbly begs you’ll mind the important—Now! To crown your happiness he asks your leave, And offers, bliss to give and to receive. For our sincere, tho’ haply weak endeavours, With grateful pride we own your many favours; And howsoe’er our tongues may ill reveal it, Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it.