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 The red-coat lads, wi black cockades,

To meet them were na slaw, man;

They rush‘d and push‘d, and blude outgush'd,

And monie a bouk did fa, man:

The great Argyle led on his files,

I wat they glanced twenty miles:

They hack‘d and hash‘d, while broad-swords clash‘d,

And thro‘ they dash‘d, and hew‘d, and smash‘d,

Till fey men died awa, man.

But had you seen the philibegs,

And skyrin tartan trews, man,

When in the teeth they dar‘d our whigs,

And covenant true blues, man,

In lines extended lang and large,

When bayonets opposed the targe,

And thousands hastened to the charge,

Wi Highland wrath they frae the sheath

Drew blades o‘ death, till, out o‘ breath,

They fied like frighted doos, man.

O how deil Tam can that be true?

The chase gaed frae the north, man:

I saw myself, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man:

And at Dumblane, 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.