Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de dal, &c. II. The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, III. But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, IV. Full soon I sick of grew my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, I asked no more but a sodger laddie. V. But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair; His rags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy, My heart it rejoic'd at a sodger laddie. VI. And now I have lived-I know not how long, But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. Sing, Lal de dal, &c. RECITATIVO. Poor Merry Andrew, in the neuk ; Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie AIR. Tune-AULD SIR SIMON. Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou, My Grannie she bought me a beuk, But what will ye hae of a fool. For drink I would venture my neck; I ance was ty'd up like a stirk, I ance was abus'd i' the Kirk, For towzing a lass i' my daffin. Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, Let naebody name wi' a jeer; There's ev'n, I'm tauld, i' the court, A Tumbler ca'd the Premier. Observ'd ye yon reverend lad And now my conclusion I'll tell, For faith I'm confoundedly dry, The chiel that's a fool for himsel, Guid L-d, he's far dafter than I. RECITATIVO. Then neist outspak a raucle carlin, An' had in mony a well been douked: AIR. Tune-O AN YE WERE DEAD GUDEMAN. I. A highland lad my love was born, But he still was faithfu' to his clan, CHORUS. Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my braw John Highlandman! There's not a lad in a' the lan' Was match for my John Highlandman! II. With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. III. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. IV. They banish'd him beyond the sea, Embracing my John Highlandman. V.. Sing, hey, &c. But och! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. VOL. 11. Sing, hey, &c. R |