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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,
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade;
His leg was so tight and his cheek was so ruddy,
Transported was I with my sodger laddie.

III.

But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch,
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church;
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body,
"Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie.

IV. Full soon I grew sick of 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 raġs 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,
And still I can join in a cup and a song:
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;
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk,

Between themsels they were sae busy,
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy,
He stoiter'd

up

an' made a face; Then turn'd an' laid a smack on Grizzy,

Syne tun'd his pipes wi' grave grimace.

AIR.

Tune-AULD SIR SIMON.

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,

Sir Knave is a fool in a session;
He's there but a prentice, I trow,

But I am a fool by profession.

My Grannie she bought me a beuk,

An' I held awa to the school; I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool.

For drink I would venture my neck;

A hizzie's the half of my craft; But what could ye other expect

Of ane that's avowedly daft.

I ance was ty’d up like a stirk,

For civilly swearing and quaffing ; 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

Mak faces to tickle the mob; He rails at our mountebank squad,

It's rivalship just i' the job. And now my conclusion I'll tell,

For faith I'm confoundedly dry, The chiel that's a fool for himsel,

uid 1-d, he's far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO.

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin';
For mony a pursie she had hooked,
An' had in mony a well been douked :
Her Love had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman.

AIR.

Tune-O AN YE WERE DEAD GUDEMAN.

1.

A highland lad my love was born,
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ;
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman !

CHORUS.

Sing hey my braw John Highlandman!
Sing ho my braw John Highlandmán!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman!

II.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' guid claymore down by his side,
The ladies' hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

III.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay;
For a lalland face he feared none,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, &c.

IV.

They banish'd him beyond the sea,
But ere the bud was on the tree,
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,
Embracing my John Highlandman.

Sing, hey, 8c.

V. .

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.

Sing, hey, 8c.

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