Turnimspike.
[Tune, "Clout the Caudron."—This ludicrous description of a Highlandman's perplexities under the laws against wearing the Highland garb, the innovations of Turnpike roads, &c., is said to have been written by Dougald Graham, bellman in Glasgow, and author of a metrical account of the Rebellion of '45. Dougald was born about the year 1721, and died in 1779. A memoir of him will be found in Chambers's Scottish Biographical Dictionary.]
Hersell pe Highland shentleman,
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man;
And many alterations seen
Amang te Lawland Whig, man,
Fa a dra, diddle diddle dee, &c.
First when she to te Lawlands came
Nainsell was driving cows, man,
There was nae laws atiout him's nerse,
About te preeks or trews, man.
Nainsell did wear te philabeg,
Te plaid prick'd on her shouder;
Te gude claymore hung py her pelt;
Her pistol sharged with powder.
But for whereas these cursed preeks,
Wherewith her legs pe lockit;
Ohon that ere she saw the day!
For a' her houghs pe prokit.
Every thing in te Highlands now
Pe turn'd to alteration;
Te sodger dwall at our door cheek,
And tat pe great vexation.
Scotland pe turn'd a Ningland now,
The laws pring in te caudger;
Nainsell wad dirk him for his deeds,
But, oh! she fears te sodger.
Anither law came after tat,
Me never saw the like, man,
They mak' a lang road on te crund,
And ca' him Turnimspike, man;
And wow she be a ponny road,
Like Loudon corn riggs, man,
Where twa carts may gang on her,
And no preak ither's legs, man.
They charge a penny for ilka horse,
In troth she'll no be sheaper,
For nougat but gaun upon the ground,
And they gi'e her a paper.
They take the horse then py te head,
And there they make him staud, man;
She tell them she had seen the day
They had nae sic command, man.
Nae doubt nainsell maun draw her purse;
And pay him what him like, man,
She'll see a shudgement on his toor,
That filtley turnimspike, man.
But she'll awa' to ta Highland hills,
Where deil a ane dare turn her,
And no come near te turnimspike,
Unless it pe to purn her.
The Auld Highlandman.
[James Hogg.—Tune, "Killiecrankie."]
Hersell pe auchty years and twa,
Te twenty-tird o' May, man;
She twell amang the Heelan hills,
Ayont the reefer Spey, man.
Tat year tey foucht the Sherra-muir,
She first peheld te licht, man;
Tey shot my father in tat stoure—
A plaguit, vexin spite, man.
I've feucht in Scotland here at hame,
In France and Shermanie, man;
And cot tree tespurt pluddy cons,
Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man:
But wae licht on te nasty cun,
Tat ever she pe porn, man;
Phile koot klymore te tristle caird,
Her leaves pe never torn, man.
Ae tay I shot, and shot, and shot,
Phane'er it cam' my turn, man;
Put a' te force tat I could gi'e,
Te powter wadna purn, man.
A filty loun cam' wi' his cun,
Resolvt to too me harm, man;
And wi' te tirk upon her nose
Ke me a pluddy arm, man.
