Page:Scottish glory.pdf/5

 Wi' spears o' pointit steel, man;

But by my feggs, the Scots bare legs,

Wad fright the very D—l, man.’

So in a pet, aff hame he set,

Nae langer wad he bide, man;

The cowardly loun to Paris town,

That vera night did ride, man;

An' left his men upon the plain,

Wha kentna what to do, man;

Sae in a bing their guns did fling,

An' ran frae Waterloo, man.

So now we've peace; and in that case,

We'll hae an interview, man,

With our brave boys, chief o' our joys,

Wha fought at Waterloo, man:

An' Donnel now ance mair will view

His mither's whisky pat, man;

An' dance, and drink, an' never think

Of a' the wounds he gat, man.

Lang may the Scots wear tartan coats,

Which is their country's pride, man;

Wi' Highland plaid baith lang and braid,

To wallop at their side, man.

A Highland man's a happy man,

He's hardy ay and frisky;

He fears nae foes gin he gets brose,

An' draps o' Highland whisky.