Page:Six popular songs (2).pdf/4

 I’ll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’ a’ the honours three.

The thistle wags upon the fields Whare Wallace bare his blade, They gave her foemen’s dearest blude To dyodye [sic] her auld grey plaid; And looking to the lift, my lads, He sang this doughty glee :— Auld Scotland’s richt, and Scotland’s micht, And Scotland’s hills for me; I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’ a’ the honours three.

They tell o’ Ian’s wi’ brichter skies, Whare freedom’s voice ne’er rang; Gi’oGi'e [sic] me the land whare Ossian dwelt, And Coila’s minstrel sang— For I’voI've [sic] nae skill o’ lan’s, my lays, That kenna to be free— Then Scotland’s richt, and Scotland’s micht, And Scotland’s hills for me; I’ll drink a cup to Scotland yet. Wi’ a’ the honours three.

 

WAES ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.

A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door. He warbled sweet and clearly, And aye the o’ercome o’ his sang Was, ‘Waes me for Prince Charlie.’