I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,
My rippling-kame, and spinning-wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braid sword, durk, and white cockade.
O he’s a ranting roving blade,” &c.[1384]
Another great favourite with the old Jacobites over their cups was, “The King shall enjoy his own again.”
Did space permit we could quote many more, remarkable for pathos, humour, wit, sarcasm, and heroic sentiment, but we must content ourselves with the following. What can be more touching than “Carlisle Yetts”:—
“White was the rose in his gay bonnet,
As he faulded me in his broached plaidie;