“And so, Sire, I do not know that I can improve upon the language of the honest innkeeper; I cannot think how it should rain this way, just as your Majesty, of all men in the world, should have condescended to come and see us. I can only say in the name of my countrymen, I’m just ashamed o’ the weather!”
Sir Walter welcomed his Majesty not only in person, but also in song, by writing a long ballad in two parts, to the old tune of “Carle, and the King Come.” Simultaneously with this loyal piece there, however, appeared in the London Examiner a satirical effusion, entitled, “Sawney, now the King’s Come,” which caused some stir, and greatly annoyed the sensitive loyalty of the author of Waverley.
The writer was Alexander Rodger, of Glasgow, the well-known author of “Robin Tamson’s Smiddy,” “Behave yersel’ before Folk,” and other popular humorous songs; and the ultra-radical opinions for which he had already languished in “Bridewell,” it cannot be denied, rendered the humour of this counterblast rather too broad for general circulation. Its cleverness, however, was undoubted. A poet of admitted quality, Rodger had a rich and ready humour which helped him through many a difficulty. Whilst for the treasonable character of his contributions to the Spirit of the Union he lay in a Glasgow prison, where he was used with reprehensible harshness, he solaced himself in his solitude by singing, at the top of his lungs, his own political song compositions, some of which were so spiced with humorous satire that they could not be very grateful to the ears of his jailors. Once, when his house was searched for seditious publications (terrible bugbears at that time to the local authorities of Glasgow), Sandy handed the Family Bible to the Sheriff’s officer, with the remark that that was the only treasonable book in his possession; and for proof he referred the aghast official to the chapter on Kings, in the first Book of Samuel. Rodger’s contributions to Whistle-Binkie form perhaps the most delightsome items of that perennial collection of Scottish lyrics, none of them being a whit less felicitous than his lyrical address to Peter M’Kay—“Ane sober advice to ane drucken souter in Perth”—of which the following forms the first verse:—
“O, Peter M’Kay! O, Peter M’Kay!
Gin ye’d do like the brutes, only drink when ye’re dry,
Ye might gather cash yet, grow gaucy and gash yet,
And carry your noddle Perth-Provost pow-high;
But poor, drucken deevil, ye’re wed to the evil
Sae closely, that naething can sever the tie;