What force or guile could not subdue
Through many warlike ages,

Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitors' wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;

But English gold has been our bane:
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

I would, ere I had seen the day
That treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lain in clay
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, to my last hour
I'll make this declaration,-
We're bought and sold for English gold:
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

JOHNNIE COPE.

ADAM SKIRVING, born 1719, died 1803. Air-"Fye to the hills in the morning."

COPE sent a letter frae Dunbar,

Sayin', Charlie, meet me an ye daur,
And I'll learn you the art of war,
If you'll meet me in the morning.

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were waukin, I wad wait

To gang to the coals in the morning.

When Charlie look'd the letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from:
Come, follow me, my merry merry men,
And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

Now, Johnnie, be as good's your word;
Come, let us try both fire and sword,
And dinna flee away like a frighted bird,
That's chased frae its nest in the morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this,
He thought it wadna be amiss
To have a horse in readiness
To flee awa' in the morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

Fie now, Johnnie, get up and rin,
The Highland bagpipes mak' a din;
It is best to sleep in a hale skin,
For 'twill be a bluidy morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came,
They speer'd at him, Where's a' your men?
The deil confound me gin I ken,

For I left them a' in the morning.

Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

Now, Johnnie, troth ye are na blate

To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat,

And leave your men in sic a strait

Sae early in the morning.

Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

Oh, faith! quo' Johnnie, I got sic flegs
Wi' their claymores and philabegs ;
If I face them again, deil break my legs
So I wish you a gude morning.
Hey, Johnnie Cope, &c.

This highly popular song was written when the Highlanders were in full and joyous excitement at the defeat of the king's forces at Prestonpans, by Prince Charles, on the 22d of September, 1745. The battle has been sometimes called the battle of Tranent Muir, and of Gladsmuir. Sir John Cope, it will be remembered, was tried by a court-martial for his sudden retreat on this occasion, and acquitted. The author of this song was a farmer in Haddingtonshire.

CARLE, AN THE KING COME.

ANONYMOUS. Air-"Carle, an the king come."

CARLE, an the king come,

Carle, an the king come,

Thou shalt dance and I will sing,
Carle, and the king come.

An somebody were come again,
Then somebody maun cross the main ;
And every man shall hae his ain,
Carle, an the king come.

I trow we swappit for the worse,
We ga'e the boot and better horse;
And that we'll tell them at the corse,
Carle, an the king come.

When yellow corn grows on the rigs,
And gibbets stand to hang the Whigs,
Oh, then we'll a' dance Scottish jigs,
Carle, an the king come.

Nae mair wi' pinch and drouth we'll dine,
As we hae done-a dog's propine-

But quaff our draughts o' rosy wine,
Carle, an the king come.

Cogie, an the king come,

Cogie, an the king come,

I'se be fou, and thou'se be toom,
Cogie, an the king come.

The chorus of this song, known to have been sung in the time of Cromwell, has served on several occasions, not only in the Parliamentary struggles of Charles I., but in the rebellions of 1715 and 1745. Sir Walter Scott wrote a parody or imitation of it, entitled, "Carle, now the king's come," on occasion of the visit of George IV. to his Scottish dominions.

R

WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.

WILLIAM GLEN.

A wee bird cam' to our ha' door, He warbled sweet and clearly; the o'ercome o' his sang

And

aye

Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie."

Oh! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,

The tears came drappin' rarely;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I, "My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,
Is that a tale ye borrow?

Or is't some words ye've learnt by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?"
"Oh! no, no, no!" the wee bird sang,

"I've flown since morning early;

But sic a day o' wind and rain!—
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie.

"On hills, that are by right his ain,
He roams a lonely stranger;
On ilka hand he's press'd by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in a glen,

My heart near bursted fairly;
For sadly changed indeed was he-

Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie.

"Dark night cam' on, the tempest howl'd
Loud o'er the hills and valleys;

And where was't that your Prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace ?
He row'd him in a Highland plaid,
Which cover'd him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie."

But now the bird saw some red coats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger:
"O, this is no a land for me,
I'll tarry here nae langer."
Awhile he hover'd on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the fareweel strain-
'Twas "Wae's me for Prince Charlie."

LEWIE GORDON.

DR. ALEXANDER GEDDES, born 1737, died 1802.
Air-"Oh, an' ye were deid, gudeman!'

Он, send Lewie Gordon hame,
And the lad I daurna name;
Though his back be at the wa',
Here's to him that's far awa'!
Ochon, my Highlandman!
O my bonnie Highlandman!
Weel would I my true-love ken
Amang ten thousand Highlandmen.

Oh, to see his tartan trews,

Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes,

Philabeg aboon his knee!

That's the lad that I'll gang wi'.
Ochon, &c.