I hae seen the gude auld day,
The day o’ pride and chieftain glory,
When royal Stuarts bare the sway,
And ne’er heard tell o’ Whig nor Tory.
Tho’ lyart be my locks and grey,
And eild has crooked me down—what matter?
I’ll dance and sing anither day,
That day our king comes owre the water.
A curse on dull and drawling Whig,
The whining, ranting, low deceiver,
Wi’ heart sae black, and look sae big,
And canting tongue o’ clishmaclaver!
My father was a good lord’s son,
My mother was an earl’s daughter,
And I’ll be Lady Keith again,
That day our king comes owre the water.
Anonymous.
BURNS
CLII
O’ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE
We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea,
We’ll o’er the water to Charlie!
Come weal, come woe, we’ll gather and go,
And live and die wi’ Charlie.
Come, boat me o’er, come row me o’er,
Come boat me o’er to Charlie!
I’ll gie John Ross another bawbee
To boat me o’er to Charlie.
I lo’e weel my Charlie’s name,
Though some there be abhor him;
But, O! to see Auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie’s foes before him!
I swear and vow by moon and stars
And sun that shines so early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I’d die as aft for Charlie!