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 An' fast the Frenchmen wounded

Wha tried to rin, but couldna win—

They were sae well surrounded.—

They hack't, an' hash't an' stick't an' slash't,

Nae quarters to them gave, man:

But wi' a curse set man an' horse

To quarter in his grave, man.

Then shill an' heigh the pipes did screigh,

The Greys their bugles blew, man;

Which made the heart o' Bonaparte

To sink on Waterloo, man.

‘ These pipes,' said he, ‘have haunted me,

In every place I've gone, man;

And here they come again to bum—

The Devil break their drone, man.

‘ In Egypt's reel, I mind it weel,

They play'd a bonny spring, man;

Up gat their braw black Forty-twa,

An' danc'd their Highland fling, man.

They made me pay their pipes that day,

An' kill'd my Frenchmen brave, man;

An' made me dance hame owre to France

My ain crown'd head to save, man.

‘ So I'm afraid that spring they play’d,

This day they will renew, man;

I'll better rin while I can win,

Afore they come in view, man,

I wadna fear the Cossacks sair;