Three excellent and at present very fashionable songs/Bauldy Fraser

BAULDY FRASER.

Tune—Whigs of Fife.

My name is Bauldy Fraser, man;
I‘m puir an' auld, an' pale an' wan,
I brak my shin, an' tint a han'
Upon Culloden lee man.
Our highlan' clans war bauld an stout,
An thought to turn their faes about,
But gat that day a desperate rout,
An owre the hills did flee man.

Sic hurly-burly ne'er was seen,
Wi' cuffs and buffs, an blindet een
While, highland swords o' metal keen,
War gleamin' grand to see man.
The cannons rowtit in our face,
An brak our banes an rive our claes;
‘Twas then we saw our ticklesh case
Atween the deil an sea man.

Sure Charlie an the brave Lochyell
Had been that time beside theirsell,
To plant us in the open fiel’
In the artillary’s a‘e man:
For had we met wi Cumberland
By Athol-braes or yonder strand,
The bluid o' a the savage band
Had dyed the German sea man.

But down we droppit dad for dad:
I thought it sure hae put me mad,
To see sae many a highland lad
Lie blutherins on the brae man.
I thought we ance had won the fray;
We finasht ae wing till it gae way;
But the other side had lost the day,
An skelpit fast awa man.

When Charley wi‘ Macpherson met,
Like Hay, he thought him back to get;
We‘ll turn, quo he, an try them yet;
We‘ll conquor or we‘ll dee man.
But Donald jumpit owre the burn,
An a ware an aith she wadna turn,
Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn;
Then fast away did flee man.

O had you seen that dunt o' death!
we ran until we tint our breath,
Aye looking back for fear of skaith
Wi‘ hopeless shining e‘e man.
But Britian ever may deplore
That day upon Drumossie moor
whar thousands taen war drench'd in gore,
Or hang’d outowr a tree man,

O, Cumberland, what mean'd ye then
To ravage ilka Highland glen?
Our crime was truth an love to ane;
we had nae spite at thee man.
An you or yours may yet be glad
To trust the honest Highland lad;
The bonnet blue an belted plaid
Will stand the last o' three man.