He looks upon the Tory, and his glance is stern and high.
Right genially he smiles on us, as rolls from wing to wing
Down all our line the ready cheer. We’ve heard his voice outring:
“And if our flag should seem to droop, as seem sometime it may,
“For never saw I promise yet of such a fierce affray,
“Press where you see my banner wave, in battle’s front ’twill be,
“For whosoe’er fall to the rear, it won’t be W. G.”
Hurrah! The foe are stirring. Expect the mingled shindy,
Of Biggar tart and turbulent, and Bartlett wild and windy.
The Uncrowned King will cut us out some most unpleasant work,