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Ilk smack still did crack still,
Just like a cadger's whip,
Then staggering and swaggering
He roar'd this ditty up-

AIR.

Tune-"Soldier's Joy."

I.

I am a son of Mars who have been in many wars, And show my cuts and scars wherever I come: This here was for a wench, and that other in a trench,

When welcoming the French at the sound of the

drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.

II.

My prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his last,

When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram;

1 served out my trade when the gallant game was

play'd,

And the moro low was laid at the sound of the drum. Lal de daudle, &c.

III.

I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries,
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb;
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me,
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum.
Lal de daudle, &c.

IV.

And now tho' I must beg with a wooden arm and leg, And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum,

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bottle and my callel, As when l'us'd in scarlet to follow a drum.

Lal de daudle, &c.

V.

What tho' with hoary locks, I must stand the winter shocks,

Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home, When the tother bag I sell, and the tother bottle tell, I could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the drum, Lal de daudle, &c.

RECITATIVO.

He ended; and the kebars sheuk,
Aboon the chorus roar;

While frighted rattons backward leuk,
And seek the benmost bore;
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk,

He skir'd out encore !
But up arose the martial chuck,
And laid the loud uproar.

AIR.

Tune-"Soldier Laddie."

I.

I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when,
And still my delight is in proper young men
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie,
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie.

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

II.

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;

His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, Transported I was with my sodger laddie,

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

III.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventur'd the soul and I risked the body,
'Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

IV.

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot,
The regiment at large for a husband I got;
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready,
I asked no more but a sodger laddie,

Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

V.

But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair,
Till I met my old boy at Cunningham fair;
His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy,
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie.
Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

VI.

And now I have liv'd I-know not how long,
And still I can join in a cup or a song;

But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. [steady, Sing, Lal de lal, &c.

RECITATIVO.

Then niest outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hooked.
And had in monie a well been ducked.

Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woody!
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman.

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Tune "O an ye were dead, Gudeman."

I.

A Highland lad my love was born,
The Lalland laws he held in scorn;
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.

CHORUS.

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman! There's not a lad in a' the lan'

Was match for my John Highlandman.

II.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

III.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lalland face he feared none,
My gallant braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

IV.

They banish'd him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,

Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

V.

But, oh! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,

They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

VI.

And now a widow, I must mourn
The pleasures that will ne'er return;
No comfort but a hearty can,

When I think on John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

RECITATIVO.

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle,
Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle,
Her strappan limb and gaucy middle,
He reach'd nae higher,

Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle,
An' blawn't on fire.

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e,
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three,
Then in an Arioso key,

The wee Apollo

Set off wi' Allegretto glee

His giga solo.

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