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Robert Burns - The Battle Of Sherramuir
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"O cam ye here the fight to shun,
     Or herd the sheep wi` me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
     Or did the battle see, man?"
"I saw the battle, sair and teugh
     And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough,
     To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O clans frae woods in tartan duds
     Wha glaum`d at icingdoms three, man.

"The red-coat lads wi` black cockauds,
     To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush`d and push`d, and bluid outgush`d,
     And monie a bouk did fa`, man!
The great Argyle led on his files,
     I wat they glanc`d for twenty miles;
They hough`d the clans like nine-pin kyles,
     They hack`d and hash`d, while braid-swords clashed,
And thro they dash`d, and hew`d and smash`d,
     Till fey men died awa, man.

"But had ye seen the philibegs,
     And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they daur`d our Whigs,
     And Covenant trueblues, man!
In lines extended lang and large,
     When baig`nets o`erpower`d the targe,
And thousands hasten`d to the charge,
     Wi` Highland wrath and frac the sheath
Drew blades o` death, till, out o` breath.
     They fled like frightened dows, man!"

"O, how Deil, Tam, can that be true?
     The chase gaed frae the north, man!
I saw mysel, they did pursue
     The horseman back to Forth, man:
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
     They took the brig wi a` their might
And straught to Stirling wing`d their flight;
     But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And monie a huntit poor red-coat,
     For fear amaist did swarf, man!"

My sister Kate came up the gate
     Wi` crowdie unto me, man:
She swoor she saw some rebels run
     To Perth and to Dundee, man!
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
     The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors` bluid to spill;
     For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o brose; they scar`d at blows,
     And hameward fast did flee, man.

"They`ve lost some gallant gentlemen,
     Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
     Or in his en`mies` hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
     Some fell for wrang, and some for right,
But monie bade the world guid-night;
     Say, pell and mell, wi` muskets` knell
How Tories feil, and Whigs to Hell
     Flew off in frightened bands, man!"
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