'Tis a regular "Mons Meg" of a cannon!
The swabs, they have been every one,
Very hard the Grand Old (Gunner) Man on,
But what will they think of this gun?
Double shotted, and charged to the muzzle,
And trained by my hands and my eye,
The foes I conceive it will puzzle,
And tempt them to fly.
Mere skirmishing, up to the present,
With pop-guns, and flint-locks, and such;