Now, the men of war being out of sight,

On the eighth of July, at eight at night,

The laird of MacKinnon, John by name,

With a pilot, guide, and four boat-men,

All on board with him they went,

To carry him to the Continent.

The night indeed was fair and clear;

But not above a mile they were,

Till wind and waves did rise in ire,

This providence we may admire,

Which seemed to be frowning on him,

The very waves striving to drown him,

And on their boat, came straight a-head,

A boat with men all well armed:

But the sea was high, the wind so blew,

And nought but present death in view,

They hail’d each other, and that was all,

It was no time to search or call:

Had not this storm proved their frien’,

He’d surely in their clutches been.

And when they reached the main land,

Under the _lee_ they’re forc’d to stand,

The pilot ran her into a creek,

Got past the breakers, ’mong sand and _sleik_,

There they landed him and his guide,

And chus’d no longer to abide:

But to the sea again did go;

Because the storm did fiercely blow.

And as they were returning back,

A boat from _Morar_ did them ’ttack;

And old MacKinnon was pris’ner made,

Being, by direction, to him led,

By a party who did the two pursue,

And the boat who of them had a view

The night before, when going over:

The facts of all they could discover,

At _Morar_, on his going back,

The laird MacKinnon they did take,

And prov’d the deed which he had done,

For which they sent him to London.

In Southwark goal long did he ly,

With heavy fetters did him ty,

Till in Forty Seven, the next year

By Act of Grace he got home clear.

Now Charlie went to Glen-Brasdale,

Where he heard tell of brave Lochiel,

Who about Loch-aber was lurking there;

But to get to him great dangers were:

As a line was form’d from Inverness,

Which reached to Fort-Augustus,

From thence unto Fort-William again,

Night and day stood armed men.

The word, in a few minutes, did wheel,

From end to end, _All is well_;

And from Fort-William to Locharkaig-head,

Another line was likewise made.

Thus he did in Glen-Brasdale ly,

Till circled almost every way.

Gen’ral Campbell with four hundred men,

Upon the south-west side did land:

Captain Scot, with five hundred more,

Advancing from the easter shore,

And came within two miles of way,

They knew not what to do or say:

He sent for Cam’ron of Glen-Pan,

Who chus’d to be his guide and van,

To Lovat’s country for to go,

The braes of Locharkaig as he did know,

With them went Glenaladale and his brother,

Boradale’s two boys, there was no other:

First went the guide on’s hands and knees,

After past the Prince and the two boys,

Glenaladale and his brother at last,

Favour’d by the night, they quietly past

So near their tents they heard their speech,

And ere day, got far out of reach,

Right safe into Glen-Morriston,

Left Glenaladale and him alone.

One day, as they a travelling were,

Over a desart mountain there,

Glenaladale chanc’d to lose his purse,

With forty guineas which in it was,

And money behind it they had none,

The Prince’s being spent and gone.

While Glen. return’d his purse to seek,

Charlie lay down at a bush _cheek_,

And there appear’d unto his view,

A band of soldiers not a few,

Just upon that very spot

Where they had met, were’t not the lot

Of turning for that very purse

Kept them from what had been much worse.

So, close he lay, slie as a tod,

Being at some distance from the road,

And saw them take another rout,

That they’d met Glen. he had no doubt,

Being gone quite the contrary way

For which he thankfully did pray.

Glen. found his purse and turn’d again,

They chang’d their rout through a wild glen,

Where nothing had they for to eat,

Full forty hours they wanted meat:

Weak and weary were they both,

Water indeed they had enough;

But found no sheep or venison,

The cattle being plund’red and gone.

At last, they chanced for to spy

A little smoking hut, near by:

Then said the Prince, Thither I’ll go,

Whether they should prove friend or foe:

Better for us be kill’d like men,

Than starved like fools: What say’st thou Glen?

Yet Glen refus’d, and said, I fear,

They may be King’s-men watching here:

But in the Prince goes to the hut,

Which them in some confusion put;

Six sturdy thieves resided there,

Who at their dinner sitting were,

At a weighty piece of boiled beef,

For hungry men a blest relief.

Peace be here, the Prince did cry,

You’re welcome, sir, they did reply;

One star’d at him, then up he flew,

Ah Dougal MacColony, is this you?

I’m glad to see thee, with all my heart,

Sit down with us and take a part.

By winks, he found that he was known,

Return’d him thanks, and then sat down,

Ate hearty, and seem’d very merry,

Talk’d of the times, found by enquiry,

That ev’ry one spake as his frien’,

And had all at Culloden been;

But only one of them him knew,

He then bethought him what to do,

And after dinner they took a walk,

With that same man to have some talk,

Who told him all the strengths about,

Where parties lay, and what to doubt.

And as, said he, “The other five,

“Are as faithful fellows as alive,

“You may your safety to them trust,

“Your case by them’s lamented most.

“Here do we all in private stay,

“And make incursions for our prey:

“For meat and drink we do not want,

“Of silver and gold we are not scant:

“And since ’tis such a roaring time,

“To steal and rob we think no crime.”

The other five were call’d and told,

Who did rejoice him to behold,

And swore that he should with them stay,

Till he found it safe to get away.

’Tween Strath-Ferrar and Glen-Morr’ston,

They kept up huts, yea more than one,

And kindly there did entertain him;

To the very last they did befrien’ him,

And ere that he should taken be,

They every man would for him die.

While here he liv’d on stollen beef,

Right suddenly there came relief:

Rod’rick MacKenzie, a merchant-man,

At Ed’nburgh town had join’d the Clan,

Had in the expedition been,

And at this time durst not be seen,

Being sculking in Glen-Morriston,

Him the soldiers lighted on,

Near about the Prince’s age and size,

Genteelly drest, in no disguise.

In every feature, for’s very face,

Might well be taken in any case,

And lest he’d like a dog be hang’d,

He chose to die with sword in hand,

And round him like a mad-man struck,

Vowing alive he’d ne’er be took:

Deep wounds he got, and wounds he gave,

At last a shot he did receive,

And as he fell, them to convince,

Cry’d, Ah! Alas! _You’ve kill’d your Prince;

Ye murderers and bloody crew

You had no orders this to do._

This did confirm them in the thought,

He was the very man they sought:

And ere that he was really dead,

They forthwith did cut off his head.

Scarce took they time the corpse to bury,

Being so o’erjoy’d, in such a hurry.

To Fort-Augustus they went with speed,

Triumphing o’er poor Charlie’s head.

All who had seen him, came it to view,

And vow’d the face was just and true;

The very barber who us’d to shave him,

The sim’lar treats seem’d to deceive him:

But, said he, wer’t on his body set,

And spake, his voice I’ll not forget.

Then to the Duke in haste they’re bound,

And claim’d the thirty thousand pound.

The Duke thought now the work was done,

When Charlie’s head was to him shown;

Call’d in all out upon command,

And caus’d the militia to disband;

The ships of war went to the south

And Charles’ death did pass for truth.

He then for London took his rout,

On July eighteenth did set out,

As brave Culcairn had sent him word

Of Lochiel’s death, ev’n as absurd----

When plund’ring of Locharkaig isle,

He found the grass cut through the pile,

Thinking it was some hidden store,

He digg’d it up, and found therefore

A man’s body, who dy’d of a sore wound,

As appeared when they view’d him round;

A fine Holland shirt he on him had,

Which soon they _whirled_ o’er his head,

Being so much used to plunder,

To rob the dead thought little wonder,

And him they judg’d to be Lochiel,

Yet a near friend of his, they tell,

One Cameron, son of Callavat,

After which Lochiel no hunting gat,

Supposing him and Charlie dead,

Though it was two others in their stead.

So all the parties far and near,

To Fort-Augustus did retire:

Yet some of them were soon sent back

To burn and plunder, and to take

Some great offenders, as Barrisdale,

In which attempts they oft did fail:

For although the Duke’s to London gone,

Burning and plunder still went on.

Now, the Prince into Loch-aber went,

The seat of Lochiel, where he was bent

To know if he in life might be,

As word of’s death o’er all did flee,

And the Prince’s death so struck Lochiel,

That neither did bemoan himsel;

But each lamented for the other,

And wept as one would for a mother:

But when they heard both were alive,

To meet in haste they did contrive,

Being only twenty miles between,

His brother, the doctor, did them conveen,

With the other brother, John the priest,

Who had sincerely been in quest,

Through many a mountain, wood and glen,

And found him out with eager pain,

Into a hut, built in a wood,

Near Achnasual where it stood.

Charles at a distance did them spy,

Made him and Achnasual fly,

Not knowing what kind of men they were,

Nor what might be their business there;

But being inform’d, soon turn’d again,

Embrac’d with tears in tender strain,

And hearing that Lochiel was well,

His heart-felt joy did not conceal.

The Prince was now in a poor dress,

Poverty’s picture in distress,

A black coat with many patches,

Barefooted, and wanting breeches,

No signs of roy’lty or pride,

A durk and pistol by his side,

All weather-beaten, his gun in’s hand,

Like a Gibeonite, once in Canaan.

They had kill’d a cow the day before,

Kept a pudding feast, you may be sure,

Part of it roast, part of it sodden:

But here no bread was to be gotten,

No meal nor salt could there be bought;

But what’s from Fort-Augustus brought.

One man they had was passing free,

Came home by chance, _right cannilie_,

With a horse-load of provision,

Meal and salt, bread and _snishen_,

And with him brought a printed News,

Which did their whole attentions rouze,

How the young Pretender and Lochiel,

O’er Corriarick, had pass’d that fell,

That they were both alive again,

And with them thirty armed men:

This caus’d him longer to abide,

As safely there he could reside,

If a new searching should ensue,

His watchmen here were good and true,

Dismis’t Glenaladale for home,

With the men came from Glen-Morriston,

Kept with him only Captain MacRow,

Cameron the priest, and other two,

With Cluny’s children, they kept the hut,

And tour about on watch were put.

About this time from Dunkirk came

Sixty gentlemen, who in a band

As volunteers had freely join’d,

To bring him from the British ground.

At Polliver, in Seaforth’s country,

Four of them landed privately,

The rest, on sea, kept hov’ring round;

And left a signal, how to be found,

And where they were for to bring to:

These were their orders how to do.

Soon after two of them were ta’en,

One Fitzgerald, called by name,

An officer belong’d to Spain,

Was hanged up at Fort-William,

Proven to be a Flander’s spy,

Judg’d for same end, he came that way.

The other was Monsuer de Berards,

An officer of the French guards,

Who from the gallows was befrien’d,

And by cartel again redeem’d.

The other two wandered about,

Till Lochgarie sent, and found them out;

Strangers they seem’d, but who could know

Whether that they were friend or foe?

Captain MacRow did them invite,

At Lochgarie’s with him to meet,

To him they plainly did unfold

From whence they came, and that they would

Fain see the Prince, or yet Lochiel,

Having letters to them and words to tell,

Or else to one call’d Captain Drummond,

And more they would reveal to no man.

Lochgarie judg’d they might be spies,

Strove to be cautious and wise,

First he sent them to Lochiel,

With what suspicion he had himsel:

Lochiel order’d the Prince to come in,

Under the name of Captain Drummond,

As they the Prince did never see,

He told them where the two should be,

Bade him a letter bring, as from him come,

To tell their secrets unto him,

And this the Prince actually did,

Met in a hut, built in a wood,

And kept converse with them a day,

Then to meet Lochiel went on his way,

For to consult what might be done,

Out of Scotland once for to win:

For the small ship the Frenchmen left,

Quite off the coast were, all abaft,

And never did at all appear:

But forc’d homeward with dread to steer,

And the officers, as I heard tell,

Were kept, by orders of Lochiel,

Most secretly into a hut,

Until a ship was ready got.

While the Prince yet at Clun’s hut lay,

One morning, early of the day,

A child of Clun’s came running in,

Crying, “O-hon! the red coats and the gun!”

Which caus’d them hurry out and see

A party coming, and that right nigh:

Cluny, John Cameron and his son

Into the wood did quickly run.

Clun stood their motions to behold,

The others ran to the Prince and told:

He sleeping was in another hut,

Farther in the wood and more remote;

They plainly said, they were surrounded;

Then up he rose, no wise confounded,

Says he, My lads, review your guns,

And let us die like Scotland’s sons,

For me, I’ve been a shooter bred,

To miss a mark I’m not afraid;

Yet we’ll escape them if we may,

And live to see a better day.

Captain MacRow and Clun’s old son

Were in another hut alone,

He sent for them, they came with speed,

And to the hill did all proceed,

Being eight in number, they were no more,

Soldiers they saw above five score.

But what gave them the most surprise,

Was that the soldiers had past their spies,

Which they had planted round about,

Them to inform of every rout:

This caus’d them be the more afraid,

And think they surely were betray’d.

Then a hill-top they march’d unto,

Where of the party they had a view,

And all around could no more spy,

Than what were of the first party.

Next to Mallantagart’s top they flee,

High above the braes of Glenkengie;

Then Cameron, the priest, and Clun’s son,

To make discov’ry did backward run.

Two hundred men had gone that way,

Headed by Knockardo of Strathspey,

A going to plunder Barrisdale,

And of Clun’s ten cow’s left not a tail,

Which he few days before had bought,

When burnt his house and left him nought,

And yet they thought it was no crime,

To plunder him a second time,

The very hut they rummaged,

Out of which they had lately fled.

Clun in the wood all the while lay,

And saw them drive his cows away,

Until perceiving they were gone,

Then he return’d crying, Oh-hon

What, Shall I e’er thus plunder’d be?

For shelter now, where shall I flee?

Went with his son for bread and cheese,

Four bottles of whisk they did not seize:

His stores all under ground were hid,

Cover’d with turff into the wood.

Being midnight ere they reach’d the spot,

Where Charles lay trembling and wet,

They drank the whisk and eat the cheese,

Then of the heather made a _bleeze_.

When day came in, _beek’d_ by the sun,

They lay and slept till afternoon:

Then took their travels that very night,

To Achnacarie came full right,

Through water to their _cleavings_ high,

Dark was the night, they could not see.

Upon the morrow they kill’d a cow,

Whereof they fill’d their bellies fu’,

Without bread, salt or sallad,

Sweet hunger relished their palate;

They told the flesh, bread was before,

And thankful were they had such store,

The country being burnt, and plunder’d,

And here to live no way they had.

On the next day Lochgarie came,

And with him doctor Cameron,

On their return back from Lochiel,

They bade the Prince for safety still,

To cross the hills near Badenoch;

For Athole _braes_ were safe enough,

Among good friends could _skulk_ a while,

Till time was found to leave this isle,

Whereat the Prince was well content,

And to their journey then they went,

Travell’d by night and slept by day,

Through many a _glen_ and _awkward_ way.

Lochiel and he again did meet,

And loud they cry’d like infants sweet,

Contrived now what should be done,

Once more all hazards for to run.

His brother the priest, of modest mouth,

To hire a vessel they sent south,

To take them off from the north shore;

Because that coast was watch’d no more.

But ere that he could get that done,

They found another of safer run,

On north and west they watches set,

Upon the French ships for to wait,

Still thinking that the Dunkirk sloop,

Might yet be hov’ring round about,

From which the Frenchmen did come,

And still attempt, to take them home:

Their signals to many ships they us’d,

But ne’er a one to answer chus’d.

Now col’nel Warren had got to France,

And brought a privateer from Nantz,

With three hundred and forty men,

Well arm’d, with thirty guns and ten

Of carr’ge and swivels which she bore,

The best sailer he could procure,

The Bellona, of St. Maloes by name,

To anchor in Loch Moidart came,

And here the col’nel came on shore,

To a house where he had been before,

About the Prince for to enquire,

By chance the watch was waiting there,

Who knew what rout the Prince was gone,

And made it to the col’nel known,

Besides these officers of note,

Who now were lurking in a hut.

Then to the Prince express he sent,

Now was the time for his intent,

Who did set out that very night,

And message sent to all he might,

With speed at Moidart to appear,

With Warren, on board of privateer,

The two officers likewise came,

And met the Prince, who dash’d their frame,

Because with him they’d been so free,

When they took him Drummond to be.

But nevertheless he smil’d it over,

Hoping from suff’rings they’d all recover.

All who came, did haste on board,

Last went himself, then sheath’d his sword,

Regretted sore, he was so kind,

So many suff’rers left behind.

CHAP. XIII.

_Arrives at France. Reception there._

Thus on September the twenti’th day,

He from Loch-Moidart sail’d away,

The wind was low, the waves were kind,

To clear the land they much inclin’d,

No tempests rag’d as in times before,

As now the blast of Fate was o’er,

No foes on sea did them perplex,

Till safe at Roscort, near Morlaix,

They on the twenty-ninth did land,

Poor Charlie and his broken band,

Who all had surely been bewitch’d

By Spaniards and the subtile French,

They then to Paris did proceed,

To be refitted, great was their need.

He went _incog._ into Versailles,

With no attendance at his heels,

Receiv’d by King and Queen of France,

To them he told his mournful chance,

His sufferings they’re surpris’d to hear,

And a thousand welcomes did appear.

So for his honour, I understand,

A _Feu de joy_ they did command,

That he should in procession come,

With sound of trumpet, beat of drum.

In the first coach there was conducted,

Lord Og’lvie, Elcho, and Glen-Bucket;

And with the Prince, there next came on

Lochiel, and lord Lewis Gordon,

Pages around, with ten footmen,

The Prince of Wales’ liv’ry on them,

Kept by the Prince on ev’ry side,

While thousands did admire their pride.----

Here Kelly who broke London tower,

And Stafford, late from Newgate bower,

Who both from prison stole away,

And in Britain could no longer stay,

Young Lochiel brought up the rear,

With three gentlemen of the bed chamber.

These did all on horseback prance,

In procession to the court of France.

That night the Prince supt with the King,

In Loch-aber the like he had not seen,

Nor yet in Uist, fainting for fault,

When glad of _brochan_ wanting salt.

He hir’d a fine house, _The Theatine_,

Which stands upon the banks of Seine,

A river does through Paris run,

Ev’n as the Thames does through London.

His nobles all commissions got,

And form’d new reg’ments, Did they not,

The Scots, English, and Irish too,

Fought well at Vall, and stood full true?

The British troops they did not spare,

Which was not altogether fair,

Commanded by Og’lvie and Lochiel;

But Charles took no command himsel.

_Incog._ he once to Madrid went;

But soon return’d, right ill content:

For about this time his brother _gat_,

From Rome’s Bishop a Card’nal’s hat,

Which does not any honour bring,

To Princes of Protestant spring,

In connexion with such a See

No Protestant can ever be.

At this great Charles was much chagrin’d,

Would hear no more of him as friend,

Omitted ev’n to drink his health,

Meaning he’d pledge his soul for wealth.

While he at Paris did reside,

Were silver and copper medals made,

With an inscription thus exprest,

“CAROLUS WALLIAE PRINCEPS.”

This in letters round the head,

On the reverse BRITANNIA, read,

Then ships with this motto you’d see,

“AMOR ET SPES BRITANNIAE.”

This did offend the French grandees,

And did the King himself displease:

It did inform them, that he thought,

His pay was poor for what he wrought.

So here we leave him now to rest,

And view his friends sorely distrest,

And brought to desolation,

Through this deluding cause alone:

Schemes of the Devil, Pope and Spain,

And French delusion, trust not again

You brave Scots-men, I pray beware

Of being trick’d into such war.

Now when this campaign ended was,

Troops did to winter quarters pass,

Hessians set out for Germany,

And at Burnt island put to sea,

Where some other reg’ments also went,

The Flanders war being still extant.

CHAP. XIV.

_Trial and Execution of severals at Kensington, Brampton, and

Carlisle.----The Lords Kilmarnock, Cromartie, Balmerino, Lovat, and

Charles Ratcliff._

Poor Scotland yet did sigh and moan,

Because her suff’rings were not gone,

A time of trial for her deeds,

Where many lost their hearts and heads.

The mildest was Kensington muir,

Not far from London to be sure,

Seventeen officers by the neck

Were hung like dogs, without respect:

No clergy benefit, or Psalms at a’,

Cheer’d by the mob with loud huzza:

Elev’n at York, shar’d the same fate:

Seven at Penrith, thus too were treat:

Six at Brampton likewise fell:

And nine were butcher’d at Carlisle:

Many were sent to the Plantations,

To live among the savage nations,

Which indeed was a milder act,

Than what is in the following tract,

Of these poor souls at Carlisle,

Whose execution was so vile,

A wooden stage they did erect,

And first, half strangl’d by the neck,

A fire upon the stage was born,

Their hearts out of their breasts were torn,

The privy part unspared was,

Cut off, and dash’d into their face,

Then expanded into the fire;

But such a sight I’ll ne’er desire,

Some beholders swooned away,

Others stood mute, had nought to say,

And some of a more brutish nature,

Did shout _Huzza_, to seal the matter,

Some a mourning turn’d about

A praying for their souls, no doubt,

Some curs’d the butcher, Haxam Willie,

Who without remorse used his _gullie_,

And for the same a pension got,

Thus butchering the _Rebel Scot_.

God keep all foes, and friends of mine,

From death of such a cruel kind:

It did fulfil an English law;

But such a sight I never saw.

O! may it ever a warning be,

From rebellious mobs, to keep us free!

My dear Scots-men, a warning take,

Superior pow’rs not to forsake,

Mind the Apostle’s words, of law and love,

Saying, _All power is giv’n from above_.

’Tis by will of heav’n kings do reign,

The chain of Fate’s not rul’d by men.

Every thing must serve its time,

And so have kings of Stewart’s line.

Methinks they’re fools, whate’er they be,

Who draw their sword to stick the sea,

Or call upon the wind to _bide_,

Think not that strength will turn the tide;

Though praying made the sun to stand,

When help’d by an Almighty hand:

All those who fight without offence,

Get but a dreadful recompence:

And those who trust in France or Spain,

Are fools if e’er they do’t again:

Witness poor Charlie and the Scots,

What have they got, but bloody throats?

Charlie’s from France banish’d, like a thief,

A poor reward for his toil and grief.

Poor simple Charles they have thee tricked,

Thy wage is almost like the wicked.

Now the trials were brought on,

Of the Chiefs who had with Charlie gone,

My lord Kilmarnock and Cromartie,

In Westminster-Hall judged to be,

Lord Lovat and Balmerino,

One Mr. Ratcliff indicted also

Before their peers, for high treason,

Were to the bar brought, one by one,

Lord Kilmarnock did first appear,

Who humbly own’d his guilt was clear,

Confess’d his folly, and heinousness,

How obnoxious to punishment he was.

For offences of so deep a dye,

Begg’d they’d interceed with’s Majesty,

That the unshaken fidelitie

Of’s ancestors should remembred be,

His father having been a steady one,

In promoting the Revolution,

Took active measures to secure

The protestant succession to endure,

Which keeps the kingdoms quiet and firm,

From arbitrary and Popish harm:

This was well known for certain truth.

His own ev’ry action from his youth,

Upon the strictest enquiry

Was a course of firmest loyalty,

Until that very unhappy time,

He was seduc’d with them to join,

Soon after the battle of Preston,

He by flatt’ry was prevail’d upon:

That he bought no arms, listed no men,

Persuaded none to join that train:

He endeavour’d their rage to moderate,

For sick and wounded med’cines _gat_,

And for prisoners begg’d lenity,

This many a soldier could testify.

That for his error he had feel’d smart,

With pining grief and aching heart;

Ev’n at Culloden, chus’d not to fly,

But rather among the slain to ly:

He wish’d Providence had aim’d a shot,

That there to fall might been his lot,

Ere he’d flee to foreign power for aid:

No, that he never wou’d, he said:

If he did so, conscience would tell,

’Twas continuing in Rebellion still:

He had seen a letter from the French court,

The British Sovereign to exhort,

In what a manner he should deal

With such subjects as did rebel.

But he abhorr’d the mediation

Of any foreign intercession;

’Pon his Majesty’s great clemency,

For sacred mercy I rely,

And if no favour’s to me shown,

With resignation, I’ll lay down,

My head upon the fatal block,

For to receive the dreadful stroke,

With my very last breath fervently pray,

That th’ illustr’ous house of Hanover may,

In peace and prosperity ever shine,

And Britain rule, to th’ end of time.

The earl of Cromartie came next,

While all their eyes were on him fixt,

He begg’d their lordships for to hear,

How ungrateful guilt brought him there,

Which justly merited indignation,

Of his Majesty, and all the nation.

The treasonable offence, said he,

He’d ne’er attempt to justifie,

His plea did on their compassion ly,

And his Majesty’s royal clemency:

Appeal’d to his conduct in time bygone,

Ere that unhappy Rebellion.

Witness the commander at Inverness,

And the lord President Forbes,

Who knew his acts and loyal ways,

Till seduc’d by designing phrase:

His awful remorse, made him to fret

Severely now, Alas! too late,

Life and fortune valu’d not at all,

But his loving wife, now drown’d in gall,

With a babe unborn, of children eight,

All brought to a most mournful plight,

His eldest son with these must drie

The penalties of his miserie,

“Let these Objects of mercy be

“Known to his most gracious Majestie,

“Let innocent children now produce

“Bowels of pity in this house,

“As men of honour be men of feeling,

“My griefs to you needs no revealing.”

He pled his blood might quench his crime,

That their inn’cence should be kept in mind,

That those to mis’ry should not be brought,

Who of his guilt had never thought:

Since public justice would not let pass

From him that cup of bitterness,

Desir’d their Lordships to go on,

And said, _The will of God be done_.

Then Balmerino next came on,

Who, as friend or foe, regarded none;

But star’d about, and look’d as bold,

As he had been judge, that court to hold,

And ’gainst them mov’d a point of law,

_His indictment was not worth a straw,

As being in the county of Surry founded,

For acts of treason in Scotland grounded:

Therefore should be in Scotland try’d_;

But this the House of Lords deny’d,

And said, _The British Parliament

Rul’d over all the king’s extent_:

Therefore he’s forc’d to wave his plea;

But not a fig regarded he,

As mercy he scorn’d for to crave.

Then all three sentence did receive,

“To be beheaded on Tower-hill,

(A humble bow they gave there-till,)

“On the eighteenth August, Forty-Six,

“Their heads be sever’d by an ax,

“Quite from their bodies, on open stage,

“To lose both life and heritage,

“Their estates forfeit to the crown.”

Which makes the babes unborn frown

And parents folly to lament.

So to the Tow’r they all were sent,

For to prepare for their exit,

And with a greater Judge to meet.

Kilmarnock was as a Christian mov’d,

The time though short he well improv’d.

Balmerino took little thought,

As by the Sacrament all was bought,

And the externals of the book,

His persuasion did no farther look.

When the Dead-warrant was to him sent,

To Cromartie they did present

A remit for life and libertie;

But the other two Lords were to die.

While Balmerino at dinner sat,

The tidings came, how, and what

Was to be done on the next day,

His lady rose and swoon’d away;

He rose from’s chair, says, You’re distracted,

It is no more than I expected,

Sit down, my lady, and did constrain her,

It shall not make me lose my dinner,

I know we all were born to die,

From death at last, where can we flee?

By his mild words she kept her seat;

But ne’er a bit at all could eat.

He took the Sacrament, they say,

After th’ Episcopalian way,

With a Roman courage and resolution,

Boldly waited his dissolution,

And of his fate oft made a jest,

Which to English eyes wou’d be a feast.

He often walked without his coat

With shirt open about his throat,

One of his friends unto him told,

He’d wrong his health by getting cold,

To which he answered again,

The lease of it was near an end,

’Twas the height of folly to repair,

For all the time it had to wear.

On the next day, the stage being erect,

All rail’d about and hung with black,

A thousand foot-guards march’d theretil,

And form’d betwixt the Tow’r and hill.

The stage within the line enclos’d,

A full free passage so compos’d,

The horse Grenadiers posted without,

As to _awe_ the crowd they were more stout,

Thus was it fixt right near until

The Transport-office at Tow’r-hill,

Which, that day, was hir’d for reception,

Until they went to execution.

About the hour of ten o’clock,

Upon the stage they fixt the block,

Which cover’d also was with black,

And of saw dust had several sack,

For to sprinkle upon the blood,

Being judged for that purpose good:

Their covered coffins within the rails,

Ornamented with gilded nails,

And plates, with their inscription,

Were fixed upon ev’ry one--

’Twas thus upon Kilmarnock’s plate,

In Capital Letters engraved,

GULIELMUS COMES DE KILMARNOCK,

DECOLLATUS 18_mo._ AUGUSTI,

ANNO DOM, M, DCC, XLVI.

AETAT. SUAE, XLII.

His Coronet was thereto added,

Upon the plates likewise engraved,

And Balmerino’s inscription,

Was deeply grav’d the plate upon.

ARTHURUS DOMINUS DE BALMERINO,

DECOLLATUS 18_mo._ AUGUSTI,

ANNO DOM, M, DCC, XLVI.

AETAT. SUAE LVIII.

Thus plac’d in a conspicuous light,

With a Baron’s coronet shining bright.

Then after ten, near half an hour,

The two Sheriffs went to the Tow’r,

Knock’d at the gate, the Porter cry’d,

_What do you want?_ They then reply’d,

_The bodies of these Lords two,

Kilmarnock and Balmerino._

The Lieutenants and his Wardens brought

These two Lords for whom they sought,

And got receipts for each of them,

As usual is to give the same.

And as they past out from the Tower,

(’Tis usually said as they leave the door,)

God bless King George, the Warder cry’d,

God bless K----g J----s, Balmerino reply’d,

But Kilmarnock made a humble bow,

For Balmerino, seem’d nought to rue,

His regimentals and all was on,

The same as he had at Culloden.

Now, this procession slowly steers,

Under a guard of musqueteers,

The Sheriffs and their officers,

Tow’r-hamlets and tip-staves in pairs,

Two hearses and a mourning coach,

All to the scaffold did approach,

Three clergymen were there also,

The one with Balmerino

Was of the Episcopalian strain,

Th’ others were Presbyterian men,

Who had of late from Scotland come,

Their names were Forester and Hume,

They did upon Kilmarnock wait,

Assisting in his last exit.

Unto the tavern first they went,

Where some time in devotion spent,

And taking of their friends farewel

Tears did anguish and grief reveal:

As to the tavern they did go,

Some ask’d, Which is Balmerino?

He turn’d about and _smiling says_,

I’m Balmerino, if you please.

In the inn they’re put in sep’rate rooms,

Where mourning was, and heavy moans.

Then Balmerino he did require

A conference with Kilmarnock there.

Then said, “My Lord, before we go,

“One thing of you I want to know,

“That of it the world we may convince;

“Heard you of orders from our Prince,

“If we had Culloden battle won,

“That quarters should be giv’n to none?”

To which Kilmarnock answer’d, NO;

NOR I, Sir; cry’d Balmerino,

“It seems this on invention borders,

“To justify this way of murders.”

“No, said the Earl, “by inference just,

“To tell the truth, for so we must,

“While prisoners at Inverness,

“I heard some officers express,

“That an order was sign’d by George Murray

“Of such a nature as what you say,

“That’s Grace the Duke had it to show:

“More of the matter I do not know.”

“If Murray (said he) did the same,

“Why did they give the Prince the blame?”

And then a final farewel took,

And parted with a mournful look,

“I’m sorry (he cry’d) as he was gone,

“That I cannot pay this score alone,”

Then turning round upon his heel,

For time, my friend, For ay farewel.

Kilmarnock some time in pray’r spent,

While tears did flow from all present,

Then took a glass to cool his heart,

Before he did the room depart.

The warrand him mention’d first to go,

And being inform’d it must be so,

Then to the stage he did approach,

Seeing the hearse, coffins, mourning coach,

The dreadful block, edg’d instrument,

With the executioner and crowd’s lament,

He paus’d a while, and thus said he,

_O Hume, ’tis terrible this to me!_

His pale countenance, contrite demure,

Did pity from all around procure,

Being tall and graceful, cloth’d in black,

In a praying posture, mildly spake,

Which did the multitude surprize,

While brinish tears showr’d from their eyes,

And many said, _He’s dying well,

Howe’er he liv’d we cannot tell_.

The head cutter first took a glass,

Then came to ask him forgiv’ness;

Yet drink did not quite drown his fears,

At the awful scene he burst in tears:

But the Earl bade him not be afraid,

As it must be done by some, he said,

Gave him five guineas in a purse,

And bade him strike without remorse,

When I let my handkerchief fall,

Do you proceed by that signal.

With eyes and hands lift up in pray’r,

Most earnestly he did require,

The pray’rs of’s greatest enemie,

And all the crowd around that be,

In the fatal moment of _exit_,

That JESUS might receive his sp’rit,

Pray’d for King George most fervently,

And bless’d his royal Family.

As he promis’d to do at his end,

Upon that day he was condemn’d.

Then for the block he did prepare,

His gentleman ty’d up his hair,

Took off the bag and the big coat,

His neck made bare all ’round the throat,

On a black cushion he kneel’d down,

While friends stood weeping all around:

The mournings off the rails they threw,

That all around might have a view,

His neck right on the block it lay,

With hands stretcht out to swim away,

And when he let the handkerchief go,

He did receive the fatal blow,

Which cut the head off to a tack

Of skin, cut by a second hack.

Thus did a brave Lord end his days,

Whose head was kept upon red baize,

And with his body in coffin laid,

By Forester with his servants aid,

Which quickly to the hearse they bore,

And clear’d the block and stage of gore,

By sprinkling fresh saw-dust thereon,

That sign of slaughter there was none.

Then Balmerino he came forth,

Like a bold hero from the North,

Who of death itself was not afraid,

At least, he show’d but small regard,

Cloth’d in his regimental _Blue_,

Trimmed with gold, a warlike hue.

He pray’d to God, and mercy sought;

But fear of men was past his thought:

Drank to’s friends ere he left the room,

And charg’d them all for to drink round,

_Ain degree to heaven for me_

And wish’d them better times to see:

Then said, _Gentlemen a long adieu,

I’m detaining both myself and you_.

Then to the scaffold he went full brief,

No signs of sorrow, fear or grief,

And round it walk’d a turn or two,

Where he saw acquaintance, gave a bow:

The inscription on his coffin read,

Said, _That is right_, and shook his head.

The block he call’d, His pillow of rest,

And said, That ax has been well drest,

The executioner’s shoulder did clap,

And said, My friend, give a free chap,

You ask my pardon, but that’s a fable,

Your business is commendable:

Here’s but three guineas, it is not much;

For in my life I ne’er was rich,

I’m sorry I can add no more to it,

But my coat and vest, I will allow it,

The buttons, indeed, they are but brass;

But do thy bus’ness ne’ertheless,

Stript off his coat and neck-cloth too,

And them upon his coffin threw:

A flannel waist-coat then put on,

With a tartan cap his head upon,

Then said, For honour of the Clan,

This day I die as a Scots-man.

Then adjusted his posture on the block,

Shewing his signal for the stroke,

Was by dropping of his arms down:

Then turning to his friends aroun’,

He once more of them took farewel,

And to the crowd around did wheel,

Perhaps you’ll think that I’m too bold,

This to a gentleman he told,

Whom he perceived standing near,

But, Sir, I solemnly declare,

’Tis all through confidence in God,

A sound conscience, and cause avow’d,

If I dissemble with signs of fear,

I were unworthy of dying here.

Then to the executioner said,

Strike resolute and have no dread:

For I’ll surely count you for a foe,

Unless you give a hearty blow,

To the stage side did then retire,

And call’d the Warder to come nigh’r,

Asking which was the hearse for him,

Bade the driver come nearer in,

Immediately kneel’d to the block,

Stretch’d out his arms, and thus he spoke,

“O Lord reward my friends, he cries,

“And now forgive mine enemies,

“Receive my soul, good Lord, I crave,”

So his arms fell, the signal gave.

At this unlook’d for suddenness,

Th’ executioner surpriz’d was,

Did unprepar’d direct the blow,

That deep enough it did not go,

Before the second he turn’d his head,

As if in anger his jaws they _gade_,

Gnashing his teeth so veh’mently,

The head went off by blows three.

Upon red baize, the chopt-off head,

Was in coffin with his body laid.

Then the two hearses drove away,

To the grave where Tullibardine lay,

In St. Peter’s Church, into the Tower,

Is these three Scots Lords’ sepulchre,

All for one cause, into one grave,

Whom French delusion did deceive.

Next Charles Ratcliff was execute

For an old heroic exploit,

In the rebellious year fifteen,

Had with his brother at Preston been,

James the Earl of Derwentwater,

Who likewise suffer’d for the matter.

About thirty years before,

He lost his life and land therefore,

This Charles too was condemned;

But he from Newgate safely fled,

By slipping through a private door,

Along with other thirteen more,

Who by good fortune had the chance,

For to get safe away to France:

And he with King James went to Rome,

And zealous Papist did become.

Twice return’d to England again,

Thinking his pardon to obtain;

But when he found it would not do,

A French commission he clapt into,

And there remain’d till Forty-Six,

When he thought, as heir, to refix

Upon the lands of Derwentwater;

But yet he did not mend the matter:

For as he did for Scotland steer,

On board of a French privateer,

The Sheerness catched him at sea,

With Scots and Irish more than he,

Bold officers for the Pretender,

Who yet were forced to surrender.

His Sire was Sir Francis of Derwentwater,

By extract from a Royal fornicator:

His mother’s name was Mary Tudor,

From Charles the second, a nat’ral brooder,

Her mother’s name was Mary Davis,

Whom the King lov’d as any _mavis_:

By this he came of Stewarts’ line,

And blood to blood doth much incline;

Yet, b’ equivocation to get free,

Deny’d himself Ratcliff to be,

After the identic body’s prov’d,

He for arrest of judgment mov’d,

Said, He was a French officer,

Claim’d usage as a prisoner,

Being taken in a lawful war,

To touch him did them boldly dare:

But all this prov’d of no effect,

For the old crime he lost his neck,

Committed in the year Fifteen,

Though three and thirty years between.

Upon December the eighth day,

He to Tow’r-hill was led away

Where stage and block they did up-fix,

And cut his head off at three licks,

Yet of his death he was right vain,

Gave his neck-cutter guineas ten.

His coffin was made super-fine,

Its handles all like gold did shine.

In Roman faith he liv’d and pray’d,

And in that sort of faith he dy’d:

All seeming repentance he declin’d

As in Purgatory to be refin’d:

And had salvation so a cooking,

As to think no more of death than ducking,

Being so stout a Pope’s believer,

Went to death as he would swim a river;

The priest’ clear’d all the passes for him,

Invok’d the saints full well to store him:

So in his death there were no bands,

Although his neck did feel some pains.

He smil’d his coffin to look upon,

Whereon was this inscription,

CAROLUS COMES DE DERWENTWATER,

DECOLLATUS DIE 8_vo_ DECEMBRIS,

MDCCXLVI. AETATIS LIII.

_Requiescat in pace._

After the cutting off the head,

His corpse were in the coffin laid,

And carry’d back into the Tow’r,

Where they lay till th’ eleventh hour,

That a procession of mourning coaches,

Unto St. Giles with him approaches,

To the Earl of Derwentwater’s grave;

And here poor Ratcliff we shall leave.

Now comes Lord Lovat, an aged man,

And Chief of all the Frazer’s Clan,

Was next before his Peers try’d,

Most of th’ impeachments he deny’d,

Half dead with age, and almost deaf,

Which did them plague, and caus’d mischief:

For when they cry’d and cry’d again,

He answer’d on some other strain,

And told them, it was no fair trade,

As he did not hear one word they said,

And did not see what they could do,

As he ’gainst George his sword ne’er drew;

But always was governments’ friend:

Therefore he wonder’d what they mean’d.

In the year _Fifteen_ it was well known,

How much his loyalty was shown,

In quenching that rebellious storm,

What brave exploits he did perform.

Now, said he, I’m old and _faild_,

And cannot walk without a _hald_,

Without cause, ye need not my blood spill,

For death right soon will come a will:

If you judge I have been kind to foes,

It is but what the world allows.

Yet his servants were witness led

Of every deed done and said,

In supporting the rebellious way,

And so their proof bore heavy sway,

What Charles drank that afternoon,

When from Culloden he did run.

Then for his life was no remead,

He was condemn’d to lose his head,

Which he bore in a heroic way,

As an ancient Roman thus did say,

DULCE ET DECORUM PRO PATRIA MORI,

_’Tis sweet and glorious a patriot to die_.

The proof was strong, though he deny’d,

His letters also were apply’d,

Which he to Lord President sent,

When he advis’d him to repent,

And recal his son and men again,

Which counsel he held all in vain,

Saying, He had six hundred Frazers got,

To guard his body from the King’s hate,

And ask’d from whence such law could come,

As punish a father for the son?

If’s son and the young clan were lost,

Yet of the old he made a boast,

That if his person were attack’d

His foes should be in collops hack’d,

Such were the brags in a letter sent,

Was writ unto Lord President,

When he advis’d him for his good,

To call his clan from Charlie’s croud:

Fight! that he would, and die at home,

As it was not far unto his tomb.

When dead, his countrywives he’d have

_Cronoch_ to sing around his grave.

Likewise he wrote, I understand,

Unto the Duke of Cumberland,

Reminding him, that he with joy,

Us’d him to carry when a boy,

Through Kingston park and Hampton Court

And to his Royal Sire made sport.

So, of his Grace he did demand

The favour, but to kiss his hand,

And told him he would do more good,

Than what they really understood.

Says he, ’twill be a better way,

Than take a poor man’s life away,

Who cannot stand, ride or walk;

But only ly, or sit and talk.

To this the Duke no answer gave,

’Tis like, he wish’d him in his grave.

A zealous Roman did to him write,

And had in him so great delight,

That he offer’d to suffer in his stead,

Whereat he smil’d, and jeering said,

This man’s contrair Scripture, I see,

For a righteous man one’ll hardly die:

But for me, indeed, I’se no regard;

For I doubt he’ll hardly be preferr’d.

When to the scaffold he was born,

He looked round the croud with scorn:

_Preserve me Sirs_, then did he say,

_What’s brought a thir fowk here the day?

To see an auld grey head cut aff,

That canna gang, no wi’ a staff,

But maun be born here by men,

The like o’ this we ne’er did ken._

Then view’d the hatchet and the block,

Said, a strange way of killing fowk,

To th’ executioner, said he too,

There’s nae man works, friend, after you,

But you’ll have a _kittle_ job of me,

My neck’s sae short, strike _cannilie_,

Here’s a _bit_ purse, _gi’t a guid drive_,

I needna wish your trade to _thrive_.

Then fell a scaffold which rais’d a roar,

He did enquire the cause therefore:

They said, A scaffold’s fall’n, and many kill’d.

“_A-weel_, said he, Their time’s fulfill’d,

“I thought, this day, to dy’d my _lane_:

“But the best of _fowk_ will be _mistane_:

“I cannot say, I am sorry for’t,

“For the mair mischief, the better sport.”

Then after _Ave Maria_ and pray’r,

With _Salve Regina_, in a heroic air,

He laid his head upon the block,

And there receiv’d the fatal stroke,

In the eighty-third year of his age,

Thus dy’d on Tow’r-hill, on open stage,

Old Simon Frazer, Lord Lovat,

’Gainst rebellious Plots a _Caveat_.

CHAP. XV.

_Conclusion. Charles interrupts the Congress. Is seized at the

Opera. Carried to the Castle of Vincennes. And forced to leave

France._

Now France was hemm’d on ev’ry side,

And Charles’ reward was humbling’s pride.

By sea, by land, poor France was done;

She begg’d for peace to _draw her win_.

No ship durst from her harbours steer,

Man of war, merchant, or privateer,

Her trade was stopt by sea and land,

Bold Britain did the seas command:

She sued for peace at any price,

But Charles’ affairs made it right nice.

At Aix la Chapelle did the Congress hold,

And when Charles thereof was told,

He protested ’gainst what might be done,

In prejudice of his pretension:

For all his titles he would keep still,

Let Britain and France do what they will:

And this perplexed Lewis sore,

And anger’d Britain still the more,

So with France no peace there could be made,

While She the Pretender harboured:

France durst not on her part say No,

Lest she should get the fatal blow.

Britain now ask what you will,

France can promise and not fulfil.

The Articles were all agreed,

But neither sign’d nor ratify’d,

Until poor Charlie was sent away,

Which he postponed every day,

And instead of hastening to go,

He gave the King’s gold-smith to know,

That he wanted a service of plate,

At twenty thousand crowns in rate,

Charg’d to be ready ’gainst such a day,

Without excuses or delay.

Before this work was well begun,

Another the King must have as soon,

This put the jeweller in dread,

Straight to the Prince he did proceed,

Told him the matter, begg’d more time,

No, said he, the first order’s mine,

Go to the King and let him know----

Then said Lewis, _Let it be so_,

Thinking that he was going away,

But yet this caus’d some more delay.

The plate was made and to him sent,

Ev’n by the King’s commandement,

And his Comptroller the charge to pay,

Hoping ’twould hasten him away:

But Charles told him very plain,

That he in France would still remain,

For he had full right to do so }

By an alliance treaty long ago }

And this he might let Lewis know. }

On this the King wrote straight to Rome,

To advise what plan he might assume.

The Pope and Pretender did approve,

That Charles should from France remove.

As the King for him would provide,

At Tribourg, a palace to reside,

On what yearly pension he should demand,

Sent him a Blank from his own hand,

To name the sum though e’er so high,

Sign’d by’s most Christian Majesty.

The Duke de Graves with it was sent,

Who begg’d he’d write the sum’s content

Into the Blank with his own pen,

But down he threw it with disdain,

Saying, Bills and Bonds will seem but froth,

If Sovereigns cannot keep their troth.

Then came the Count de Maurepas,

With Charles to argument the cause;

As it was the King’s express command,

That he should forthwith leave the land,

If he chus’d not in peace to do it,

Their scheme was to compel him to it,

That the ministry were greatly struck,

At his behaviour and conduct,

In stopping the whole of their affairs

This is what the Count’s commission bears.

Your Ministry, cry’d he, with disdain,

You’ll oblige me, tell your King and them,

I’m born, I trust their schemes to break,

And how to do’t, I could direct;

But, I hope, the time will soon draw on,

When that good work it will be done.

About this time from London came,

Two hostages of worthy fame,

As pledges of the peace to be,

And Articles to ratifie,

While the French had none to London sent:

At which the Prince a squib did vent,

What! is Britain conquer’d, he did say,

That their hostages are here away?

And is FRENCH FAITH so current grown,

That hostages they ask for none?

This league shall yet like poor mine go,

Which was sworn to a few years ago.

This did the Ministry enrage,

And nought’s for Charlie but the cage,

As the scheme was fully contriv’d,

A courier from Rome arriv’d,

Where the Pope and old Pretender too

Did his whole conduct disavow,

Ord’ring him forthwith to retire,

To which he yet gave a deaf ear;

But knowing that he must fall their prey,

Order’d his plate and jewels away.

His behaviour did through Paris spread,

And all did own him, hard bestead.

Then by the King an order’s sign’d,

Directly to have him confin’d,

Twelve hundred guards did close parade,

Horse and grenadiers were had

All armed and _Cap-a-pee_,

Set round the Opera carefullie,

The Duke de Biron had command,

But loth to take the deed in hand;

Caus’d Major Venderville execute,

Who did not with much honour do’t.

Six lusty ruffians were prepar’d,

Who waiting stood within the guard,

And as he entred the Opera door,

They seiz’d him fast, and squeezed sore

His hands and arms in the squabble,

The guards around kept off the rabble,

Who had the Prince in great esteem,

And wish’d their help him to redeem,

His servants and each favourite

Were strictly order’d to retreat;

Sword and pistols from him did wrest,

This comes French vows to at the best.

His arms and thighs with cords were knit,

And in a coach they have him set,

With a Major upon every side;

In this posture they made him ride

Unto the castle of Vincennes,

While soldiers guarded all the lanes,

Until that length they did proceed,

As there an uproar was indeed;

For ’mong the croud it was current told,

That he was to the English sold:

Some said this, and some said that,

And thousands told they knew not what.

The governor did him imbrace,

And cried, “Ah my friend, Alas!

“A noble Prince so bound with cord,

“Upon my word, I’m sorry for’t.”

And then in haste with his own hands,

Respectfully unloos’d his bands:

But to a dark apartment led him in,

Was only ten feet square within,

No window to look any way,

A sky-light shew’d some peep of day.

When he view’d his prison round and round,

Said, he’d been worse into Scots ground;

Poor Charlie this was hard to _thole_,

To clap thee in a French _black-hole_!

And there he was confin’d to ly,

Till to depart he did comply,

As the Pope and King James did desire,

That he from French ground should retire.

When finding that it must be so,

He freely did consent to go.

Two col’nels went, as it appears,

To see him pass the French frontiers:

They took the rout to Fountainbleau,

And to his dungeon bade adieu,

He did not love to be confin’d,

So now the peace was fairly sign’d,

And Charlie banish’d like a fool,

Who was only us’d as a French tool,

And to Scotland a scourge and curse,

I mean by waste of blood and purse.

But in time to come, dear countrymen,

O do not do the like again!

The Popish oaths ye’ll find a puff,

When ye get on the neck a cuff;

For in ages past you may see plain,

These are the tricks of France and Spain,

For to be peaceable and good,

Till they are in a fighting mood,

And then a quarrel they will breed

For any thing they stand in need.

_A Quaker’s Address to Prince Charles, shewing what was the Cause

and Ground of his Misfortunes._

Now Charles, If thou want’st more sorrow,

Thou may return if ’twere to-morrow,

I know, the Pulpit and the Press

Were the great means of thy distress,

And thou hadst got no wit to guide it,

No Principle thou had provided.

Hadst thou, like Oliver appear’d

In devout mood, thou might been heard:

But a Prince without a principle!

What thou couldst be, I cannot tell.

The Protestants look’d badly on thee,

So many wicked hang upon thee,

And of thy forbearers, they plainly tell,

Of Popery thou bearst a smell.

Thou trustedst nought to ordination,

But thought to force a crown and nation.

I tell thee, Kings reign not by men,

’Tis a higher pow’r, thou’lt find it plain.

The Pope, the Pagan, and the Turk,

’Tis all by fire and sword they work:

We Quakers are of greater merit.

We conquer none but by the Spirit;

But thou, and each thy like’s a cheat,

That pretend to rule the turns of fate,

And will fight against the great decree,

As of winds and waves would ruler be,----

The Pope pretends to curse and bless,

And yet cannot create a Louse,

Nor make a dead beast live again,

For all the might he does preten’:

Yet claims a power in heav’n and earth,

Of judgment here there is a dearth,

But O! what madness fills their head?

To pray to saints thousand years dead!

If dead men had such power to sell,

Many of them wou’d been living still.

And if those dead men they could hear us,

They might sometimes send news to cheer us.

By Yea and Nay, the Popes are thieves,

And he’s as stupid that believes

These roguish priests, who pardons sell,

Or yet pray back a soul from hell.

He’s surely of the devil’s kind,

Who thus deludes the vulgar blind;

And who adheres to such a college,

Will be destroy’d for lake of knowledge,

With Beads and Waffers, the Devil’s batter,

Your musty Mass, and Holy Water,

Wherewith ye blind the souls of men,

For to encrease your worldly gain,

Done with pretence of holiness:

O hypocrites, why live ye thus?

You thump, you mump, with face awray,

And at one time ye rob and pray,

Pretend so much to chastitie,

None of your priests can married be,

Yet run like rams, and lead lewd lives,

Ye’re but a pack of venereal thieves:

You practise cuckoldom and whoredom,

That innocents have no freedom,

Dreading the power of curse and bless,

You thus put modesty in distress,

Pretending Miracles and Charms,

To keep from evil spirits harms,

Such as Clover-leaves, and branch of Yew,

Will keep the devil from man or cow,

And that Holy Water has such effect,

As make him run and break his neck;

Ay, to the vulgar too you’ll tell,

Of sending letters to heaven or hell,

Bring half burnt souls from Purgatory,

For gold you’ll harle them out in hurry,

And those who cannot money raise,

You’ll do it for butter, beef or cheese;

But they may there stay, eternalie,

Whose friends will not pay you a fee:

I think a stronger delusion,

Was never in any ages known,

The Turk, the Pagan and the Jew,

More mercy have to show than you,

Your ceremonies so ye cook,

The devil gets none but poor fo’k,

Who cannot pay the priest his fee;

Accurs’d be such belief for me.----

And now, dear Charles, how dost thou think,

Such doctrine would in Britain stink,

Into a Presbyterian’s nose,

Or any who good plain sense knows?

Dissenters and we they Quakers call,

Protest, they’re not of Israel,

Who pretend a power to damn or save,

Or bear a rule beyond the grave.

All is given us from above,

And souls are saved by mere love;

But the sp’rit of men, which some hold money,

I term it but the devil’s honey,

Wherewith you blind the ignorant,

And cozen them who hate repent:

But as thou profess no principle,

Thou might have turn’d a _What ye will_:

But those who no profession own,

Are of kin to the beasts alone:

They surely have but little wits,

Who esteem no God above their guts.

What wa’st thou sought? What wa’st thou got?

Surely ’twas nothing but thy lot.

Though Popes pretend to rule the earth,

They cause nought but a sp’ritual dearth,

As they can neither rule earth nor sea,

Witness what has behappen’d thee:

It surely makes your Pope a knave,

To pretend a pow’r beyond the grave:

Had his apostolic pow’r been true,

Thou wou’dst been King of Britain now.

Wert thou a Protestant in heart,

I’d wish thee very well in part;

But the last wish thoul’t get from me,

Is, God keep our land of Pop’ry free!

May the throne continue in Protestant race,

And ne’er a Papist fill his place.

Thus saith to thee an honest Quaker,

Thou ne’er shalt here be a partaker:

For all Rome’s plots and magic spell,

’Tis seldom now they prosper well,

Her days of witchcraft are near run,

Few _Ave’s_ or _Te Deum’s_ sung,

A Mass that’s mumbled o’er in haste,

Spoke in the language of the beast,

Which but by few is understood,

Poor chaff instead of sp’ritual food:

But ignorance, the Papists say,

Is unto heaven the nearest way:

But, O ye wretches, this I doubt,

While you the sp’ritual light keep out,

And teach so freely, and off hand,

To break the very Lord’s command,

And on no other things lay hold;

But trust the priest, and give him gold.

All sins by them are pardoned,

So by the nose the poor are led;

Not blinded nations or ideots,

But the rich, learned reprobates,

Who will not from sinning hold,

As long’s they have one bit of gold.

Wo will be to such priests, I say:

For hell’s prepar’d for such as they.

NATHAN NOMORE.

*** The Impeachments against Lord GEORGE MURRAY, and JOHN MURRAY

Secretary, accused of treachery by the Public, are here omitted,

thought in some respects to be groundless, at least of Lord GEORGE:

For there is never a Battle lost, but the Commander gets the Blame,

and when one is won, the Commander gets all the Praise, as if the

Soldiers had done nothing: And it is further observed, after the

loss of a Battle, it is the cry of the Public and the run-away

Soldiers, WE ARE SOLD, WE ARE SOLD.

THE following COPY, mentioned by Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino,

on the day of their execution, is here inserted _verbatim_.----The

Public are left to judge whether it is spurious or not, as the

Author does not pretend to judge in the affair: Only it was judged

spurious by Duke William himself, and several officers, who knew

the order of war.

Copy _of the_ REBELS’ ORDERS before the BATTLE of CULLODEN,

(_said to be_) found in the Pocket of one of the Prisoners.

Parole, _Roy Jaques_.

“IT is his ROYAL HIGHNESS’ positive orders, that every person

attach himself to some Corps of the Army, and remain with the

Corps night and day, until the Battle and Pursuit be finally over:

And to give no Quarters to the ELECTOR’S Troops, on any account

whatsoever.----This regards the Foot, as well as the Horse.----The

Order of Battle is to be given to every General Officer and

Commander of a Regiment or Squadron.

“IT is required and expected of each Individual in the Army,

as well Officer as Soldier, that he keep the Post he shall be

allotted: And if any man turn his back to run away, the next behind

such man is to shoot him.

“NO body, upon pain of death, is to strip the slain, or plunder,

until the battle is over.----The Highlanders to be in Kilts, and no

body to throw away their Guns.”

(_Signed_)

GEORGE MURRAY, _Lt. Gen._

_Miss FLORA’S Lament._ A SONG.

Tune. _Woes my heart that we should sunder._

When that I from my darling pass’d,

My love increas’d like young Leander,

With the parting kiss, the tears fell fast,

Crying, woes my heart that we should sunder.

O’er mountains, glens, and raging seas,

When wind and waves did roar like thunder,

Them I’d encounter again with ease,

That we were ne’er at all to sunder.

O yet I did to Malton go,

And left my darling Swain to wander;

Where was one friend, were fifty foe;

And I myself was then brought under.

By a rude band of bloody hue,

Because I lov’d a young Pretender;

If it were undone, I would it do,

O’er hills and dales, with him I’d wander.

From ship to ship, was toss’d about,

And to the Nore did me surrender;

Crouds of rude hands, I stood them out,

And lov’d none like my young Pretender.[42]

To great London, I came at last,

And still avow’d my passion tender;

Thinking for death I would be cast,

For serving of my young Pretender.

But thanks be to the Georgian race,

And the English laws, I judg’d untender;

For they thought nought of all my case,

Although I lov’d a young Pretender.

They charg’d me to the Highlands go,

For womens’ wit, and strength was slender;

As I ne’er in arms appear’d as foe,

In defence of a young Pretender.

O were my Swain at Malton gate,

Or yet at Sky I’d be his lover;

In spite of all the laws of late,

I would call him sweet darling Rover.

_The AUTHOR’S Address to all in general._

Now gentle readers, I have let you ken,

My very thoughts, from heart and pen,

’Tis needless now for to conten,

Or yet controule,

For there’s not a word o’t I can men’,

So ye must thole.

For on both sides, some were not good,

I saw them murd’ring in cold blood,

Not th’ gentlemen, but wild and rude,

The baser sort,

Who to the wounded had no mood,

But murd’ring sport.

Ev’n both at Preston and Falkirk,

That fatal night ere it grew mirk,

Piercing the wounded with their durk,

Caus’d many cry,

Such pity’s shown from Savage and Turk,

As peace to die.

A woe be to such a hot zeal,

To smite the wounded on the fiel’,

It’s just they get such groats in kail,

Who do the same,

It only teaches cruelty’s real,

To them again.

I’ve seen the men call’d Highland Rogues,

With Lowland men, make _shange_ a brogs,

Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs

Out at the door,

Take cocks, hens, sheep and hogs,

And pay nought for.

I see’d a Highlander, ’twas right drole,

With a string of puddings, hung on a pole,

Whip’d o’er his shoulder, skipp’d like a fole,

Caus’d Maggy bann,

Lap o’er the midden and midden-hole,

And aff he ran.

When check’d for this, they’d often tell ye,

Indeed _her nainsel’s_ a tume belly.

You’ll no gi’et wanting bought, nor sell me,

_Hersel_ will haet,

Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy’s Willie,

I’ll hae a meat.

I see’d the soldiers at Linton-brig,

Because the man was not a Whig,

Of meat and drink, leave not a skig

Within his door,

They burnt his very hat and wig,

And thumpt him sore.

And thro’ the Highlands they were so rude,

As leave them neither clothes nor food,

Then burnt their houses to conclude,

’Twas tit for tat,

How can _her nainsel’_ ere be good,

To think on that.

And after all, O shame and grief,

To use some worse than murd’ring thief,

Their very gentlemen and chief,

Unhumanly,

Like Popish tortures, I belief,

Such cruelty.

Ev’n what was act on open stage,

At Carlisle in the hottest rage,

When mercy was clapt in a cage,

And pity dead,

Such cru’lty approv’d by every age,

I shook my head.

So many to curse, so few to pray,

And some aloud huzza did cry,

They curs’d the Rebel Scots that day,

As they’d been nout

Brought up for slaughter, as that way

Too many rowt.

Therefore, Alas! dear countrymen,

O never do the like again,

To thirst for vengeance, never ben

Your guns nor pa’

But with th’ English, e’en borrow and len,

Let anger fa’.

Their boasts and bullyings, not worth a louse,

As our king’s the best about the house,

’Tis ay good to be sober and douce,

To live in peace,

For many I see, for being o’er crouse,

Gets broken face.

_JOHN HIGHLANDMAN’S_

_REMARKS ON GLASGOW._

[The following is what may be termed a ‘Chap-book Version’ of _John

Highlandman’s Remarks on Glasgow_. It is taken from a chap-book

published anonymously in Glasgow in 1823. In no material respect

does it differ from the other copies still to be found. M‘Vean

was the first to attribute the verses to Graham. The assumption

has generally been that in point of time this is one Graham’s

earliest productions, after his _History of the Rebellion_, and it

is certainly the most popular of his metrical pieces. It furnishes

an interesting description of Glasgow about the middle of last

century.]

JOHN HIGHLANDMAN’S REMARKS ON GLASGOW.

Her nainsel into Glasgow went,

An errand there to see’t,

And she never saw a bonnier town

Standing on her feet.

For a’ the houses that be tere

Was theekit wi’ blue stane,

And a stane ladder to gang up,

No fa’ to break her banes.

I gang upon a stany road,

A street they do him ca’,

And when me seek the chapman’s house,

His name be on the wa’.

I gang to buy a snish tamback,

And standing at the corse,

And tere I see a dead man,

Was riding on his horse.

And O! he be a poor man,

And no hae muny claes,

Te brogues be worn aff his feet,

And me see a’ his taes.[43]

Te horse had up his muckle fit

For to gie me a shap,

And gaping wi’ his great mouth

To grip me by the tap.

He had a staff into his hand,

To fight me an’ he coud,

But hersel be rin awa frae him,

His horse be unco proud.

But I be rin around about,

And stand about the guard,[44]

Where I see the deil chap the hours,

Tan me grew unco feared.[45]

Ohon! Ohon! her nainsel said,

And whare will me go rin?

For yonder be the black man

That bums the fouk for sin.

I’ll no pe stay nae langer tere,

But fast me rin awa,

And see the man thrawin te rapes

Aside te Broomielaw.[46]

An’ O she pe a lang tedder,

I spier’t what they’ll do wi’t,

He said to hang the Highlandmen

For stealing o’ their meat.

Hout, hersel’s an honest shentleman,

I never yet did steal,

But when I meet a muckle purse,

I like it unco weel.

Tan fare ye weel ye saucy fellow,

I fain your skin wad pay;

I cam to your toun the morn but,

An’ I’ll gang out yesterday.

Fan I gang to my quarter-house,

The door was unco braw,

For here they had a cow’s husband,

Was pricked on the wa’.[47]

O tere me got a shapin ale,

An’ ten me got a supper,

A filthy choud o’ chappit meat

Boiled amang a butter.

It was a filthy dirt o’ beef,

His banes was like te horn,

She was a calf wanting the skin,

Before that she was born.

I gang awa into the kirk

To hear a Lawland preach,

And mony a bonny sang they sing,

Tere books they did them teach.

And tere I saw a bonny mattam,

Wi’ feathers on her waim,

I wonder an’ she be gaun to flee,

Or what be in her myn.[48]

Another mattams follow her,

Wha’s arse was round like cogs!

And clitter clatter cries her feet--

She had on iron brogues.[49]

And tere I saw another mattam

Into a tarry seck,

And twa mans pe carry her,

Wi’ rapes about hims neck.

She pe sae fou o’ vanity,

As no gang on the grun,

But twa poor mans pe carry her

In a barrow covert aboon.[50]

Some had a fish-tail to their mouth,[51]

And some pe had a ponnet,

But my Janet and Donald’s wife

Wad rather hae a bannock.

_THE TURNIMSPIKE._

[_The Turnimspike_ has had more attention paid to it by literary

antiquaries than any of Graham’s other metrical productions,

excepting, of course, his _History of the Rebellion_. It has always

been regarded as being from Graham’s pen, and Sir Walter Scott

said it alone was sufficient to entitle him to immortality. Burns

admired it on account of its local humour. The verses appeared in

Herd’s Collection of 1769; and they have been here taken from the

edition of 1776.]

THE TURNIMSPIKE.

Her sel pe Highland shentleman,

Pe auld as Pothwell prig, man;

And mony alterations seen

Amang the Lawland whig, man.

_Fal lal_, &c.

First when her to the Lowlands came,

Nain sell was driving cows, man:

There was nae laws about hims narse,

About the breeks or trouse, man.

_Fal lal_, &c.

Nain sell did wear the philapeg,

The plaid prik’t on her shouder;

The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,

The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder.

_Fal lal_, &c.

But for whereas these cursed preeks,

Wherewith mans narse be lockit,

O hon, that ere she saw the day!

For a’ her houghs pe prokit.

_Fal lal_, &c.

Every thing in the Highlands now,

Pe turn’t to alteration;

The sodger dwal at our door cheek,

And that’s te great vexation.

_Fal lal_, &c.

Scotland be turn’t a Ningland now,

And laws pring on the cadger:

Nain sell wad durk him for hur deeds,

But oh she fears the sodger.

_Fal lal_, &c.

Another law came after that,

Me never saw the like, man;

They mak a lang road on the crund,

And ca’ him turnimspike, man.

_Fal lal_, &c.

And wow she pe a ponny road,

Like Louden corn rigs, man;

Whare twa carts may gang on her,

And no break others legs, man.

_Fal lal_, &c.

They sharge a penny for ilka hors,

In troth they’l be nae sheaper,

For nought but gaen upo’ the crund,

And they gie me a paper.

_Fal lal_, &c.

They tak the hors then pe the head,

And there they mak them stand, man.

I tell’d them that I seen the day

They had na sic command, man,

_Fal lal_, &c.

Nae doubts nain-sell maun draw his purs,

And pay them what him’s like, man:

I’ll see a shudgement on his store,

That filthy turnimspike, man.

_Fal lal_, &c.

But I’ll awa to the Highland hills,

Where nere a ane sall turn her;

And no come near your turnimspike,

Unless it pe to purn her.

_Fal lal_, &c.

_TUGAL M‘TAGGER._

[This piece sometimes appears in old chap-books under the heading

of _Dugald M‘Taggart_, no doubt the proper name of the hero, but

it is one that scarcely fits the rhyme. The reading here used is

sustained by usage, and has the further advantage of being--shall

we say?--more euphonious. M‘Vean attributes the song to Graham. It

was probably composed about the year 1772, on the occasion of the

passing of the first Sequestration Act, 12 Geo. III., c. 72. The

following is reprinted from an old broadside version long popular

in Glasgow. The air is given as--‘The Hills of Glendoo.’]

TUGAL M‘TAGGER.

Would you’ll know me, my name it is Tugal M‘Tagger,

She’ll brought hersel’ down frae the braes o’ Lochaber,

To learn her nainsel’ to be praw haberdabber,

Or fine linen-draber, the tane or the twa.

She’ll being a stranger, she’ll look very shy-like:

She’s no weel acquaint wi’ your laigh kintra dialect;

But hoogh! never heed, she’s got plenty o’ Gaelic--

She comes frae ta house at the fit o’ Glendoo.

[But her kilt she’ll exchange for ta praw tandy trowser,

An’ she’ll learn to ta lady to scrap an’ to pow, sir,

An’ say to ta shentlemans--How did you’ll do, sir?

An’ ten she’ll forget her poor friens at Glendoo.

An’ when she’ll pe spoket the laigh kintra jabber,

She’ll gi’e hersel’ out for ta Laird o’ Lochaber,

Shust come for amusements to turn haberdabber,

For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow.][52]

She’ll got a big shop, an’ she’ll turn’d a big dealer;

She was caution hersel’, for they’ll no sought no bailer,

But Tugal M‘Tagger hersel’ mak’s a failure--

They’ll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she’ll not know.

They’ll called a great meeting, she’ll look very quate now,

She’ll fain win awa’, but they’ll tell her to wait now;

They’ll spoket a lang time, ’pout a great estate now:

She’ll thocht that they’ll thocht her the laird o’ Glendoo.

They’ll wrote a long while about a trust deeder,

She’ll no write a word, for hersel’ couldna read her,

They’ll sought compongzition, hoogh, hoogh, never heed her--

There’s no sic a word ’mang the hills o’ Glendoo.

But had she her durk, hersel’ would devour them,

They’ll put her in jail when she’ll stood there before them;

But faith she’ll got out on a hashimanorum,[53]

And now she’s as free as the win’s on Glendoo.

_HAD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD._

[Stenhouse, in his _Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland_, suggests

that _Had Awa Frae Me, Donald_, was probably written by the same

hand as _Turnimspike_. In view of the strong likeness which exists

between the two pieces, and the fact that no author has been found

for the lines on the following pages, we have no hesitation in

admitting them among works probably written by Graham. The view

here given is reprinted from--‘The Black Bird: a choice collection

of the most celebrated songs. Few of which are to be found in any

collection. By William Hunter, Philo-Architectonicæ. Edinburgh:

Printed by J. Bruce and Company: And sold by John Moir, Book-Binder

in Bell’s Wynd. MDCCLXIV.’ It is also in Herd’s Collection of

1776.]

HAD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD.

O will you hae the tartan plaid,

Or will you hae ta ring, mattam,

Or will you hae ta kiss o’ me,

And dats ta pretty ting, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I’ll neither kiss, nor hae a ring,

Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald.

O see you not her ponny progues,

Her fecket plaid, plew, creen, mattam,

Her twa short hose, and her twa spiogs,

And a shoulter pelt apoon, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Nae shoulder belts, nae trink abouts,

Nae tartan hose for me, Donald.

Hur can peshaw a petter hough

Tan him wha wears the crown, mattam;

Her sell hae pistol and claymore,

Tae flie ti’ lallant loon, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

For a your houghs and warlike arms,

You’re not a match for me, Donald.

Hur sell hae a short coat pi pote,

No trail my feets at rin, mattam,

A cutty sark of guide harn sheet,

My mitter he pe spin, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald;

Gae hame and hap your naked houghs,

And fash nae mair wi’ me, Donald.

You’s ne’er pe pidden work a turn

At ony kind o’ spin, mattam,

But shug your lenno in a scull,

And tidel highland sing, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your jogging sculls, and highland sang,

Will sound but harsh wi’ me, Donald.

In ta morning, when him rise,

Ye’s get fresh whey for tea, mattam,

Sweet milk an ream, as much you please,

Far sheaper tan pohea, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I wadna quit my morning’s tea;

Your whey will ne’er agree, Donald.

Haper Gallick yes pe learn,

An tats ta ponny speak, mattam,

Ye’s get a cheese, and putter kirn,

Come wi’ me kin ye like, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your Gallick, and your Highland chear,

Will ne’er gae doun wi’ me, Donald.

Fait yes pe ket a silder protch,

Pe pigger as the moon, mattam,

Ye’s ride in curroch stead o’ coach,

And wow put ye’ll pe fine, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

For all your Highland rarities,

You’re not a match for me, Donald.

What’s tis ta way tat ye’ll pe kind

To a protty man like me, mattam,

Sae lang claymore pe po my side,

I’ll nefer marry thee, mattam.

O come awa’, run awa’,

O come awa’ wi’ me, Donald,

I wadna quit my Highland man,

Frae Lallands set me free, Donald.

END OF VOL. I.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Paisley Magazine_, December, 1828.

[2] _Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and Scenery of Scotland._

1811.

[3] Chambers’ _Illustrious Scotsmen_, vol. ii., p. 488.

[4] Strang’s _Glasgow and its Clubs_, 2nd edit., p. 77.

[5] _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, p. 184.

[6] Stenhouse’s _Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland_ (edited by Dr.

David Laing), p. 112*.

[7] _Glasgow and its Clubs_, 2nd ed., p. 80.

[8] Fraser’s _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, p. 192.

[9] _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, p. 172.

[10] Stenhouse’s _Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland_, p. 112*.

[11] _Glasgow and its Clubs_, 2nd Ed., p. 77.

[12] _History of Poetry in Scotland_, by Alex. Campbell. Edin.

1798, p. 307.

[13] _Hist. Glas._, 2nd ed., 1830, _appendix_.

[14] Strang’s _Glasgow and its Clubs_, p. 82, _note_.

[15] _Jacobite Songs and Ballads of Scotland_, p. 297.

[16] Bell’s _Commentaries on the Law of Scotland_ (edited by John

M‘Laren, advocate), vol. ii. pp. 281-2.

[17] _A Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads and Songs_, by W. H. Logan, p. 442.

[18] _Paisley Magazine_, December 1828.

[19] _Paisley Magazine._

[20] _Ante_, p. 29.

[21] _Reliques of Robert Burns_, p. 434.

[22] The reference is to Burns. Cromek’s quotation is from

Grahame’s _Birds of Scotland_, vol. ii. p. iv.

[23] _Works of Robert Burns._ Kilmarnock edition, vol. ii. p. 286.

[24] _Works of Robert Burns._ Edinburgh, 1877-79, vol. i. p. 16.

[25] There were several chap-books with this title in circulation.

We have before us one bearing the same name, published in Edinburgh

in 1764; and another, _The Accomplished Courtier_, also issued in

Edinburgh in the same year, but they are both totally different

from the Stirling publication.

[26] _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, p. 151.

[27] _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, p. 151.

[28] Mr. John Ashton, in his _Chap-Books of the Eighteenth

Century_, a work dealing exclusively with the chap literature of

England, traces what appears to be an original edition of _Simple

Simon_, ‘printed and sold in Aldermary Church Yard, London.’ The

publishers there, he informs his readers in his introduction, were

William and Cluer Dicey, originally of Northampton, who started a

branch of their business in London subsequent to 1720.

[29] _The Glasgow Athenæum_, August 10, 1850 (No. 2), p. 18.

[30] _The Glasgow Athenæum_, p. 18.

[31] In the catalogue of the second portion of the library of the

late Dr. David Laing, sold two or three years ago, there was a

collection of chap-books (lot 795) in which this work is mentioned.

The lot was “passed,” probably because it had disappeared, and

consequently we have been unable to come across it. The fact is to

be regretted, as there is every reason to believe the copy would be

unique.

[32] _Glasgow and its Clubs_, 2nd ed., p. 82, _note_.

[33] _Paisley Magazine._

[34] _Glasgow and its Clubs_, 2nd ed., p. 77.

[35] _Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland_, pp. 215-16.

[36] _Chap-Books of the Eighteenth Century_, by John Ashton, p.

vii. _intro._

[37] _Works of Allan Ramsay_, Fullarton’s ed. vol. i. p. 17.

[38] Dr. Carlyle’s _Autobiography_, p. 89.

[39] _Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character_, 21st ed., p.

viii.

[40] _Ibid._ 21st ed., p. 249.

[41] _Pounds Sterling._

[42] The preceding five stanzas are all of this song given in the

Aberdeen (1850) edition. In the other editions it is given as in

the one of 1774, and, of course, as it is reproduced here.

[43] The equestrian statue of King William III., presented by

Governor Macrae to Glasgow, his native city, and erected opposite

the Tontine, at the Cross, in 1735. It was cast in Holland. The

classical style of dress, including primitive sandals, in which the

King is represented, gave rise to the idea in ‘John Highlandman’s’

mind that His Majesty was a ‘poor man.’

[44] The old guardhouse, in the Trongate, at the foot of the

Candleriggs. Like many of the houses in Glasgow at the time, it had

a colonnaded front, which projected into the street, and made it

a feature of the city. Here the citizens took duty by turns, for

these were the days when policemen were unknown.

[45] It is on record that a clockmaker in the Trongate had at that

time in his window a clock, on which a figure of the ‘Deil’ was

shown as ‘chapping’ the hours.

[46] There were several roperies in the vicinity of the Broomielaw.

[47] The reference is to the Black Bull Inn--‘the cow’s

husband’--situated at the West Port, which was then in the

Trongate, at the head of Stockwell Street. It was one of the most

famous hostleries in the west country.

[48] Rather an obscure reference, but it may probably find an

explanation in the following statement in Fairholt’s _Costume

in England_, p. 567:--‘Feather muffs are mentioned in Anstey’s

_New Bath Guide_, and became fashionable in George III.’s reign.’

Another alternative is that it may refer to what were then known as

Spanish fans.

[49] Probably pattens, then in common use.

[50] A long drawn out description of a sedan chair. Carriages had

not yet come into vogue. The first private carriage seen in Glasgow

belonged to Allan Dreghorn, a timber merchant and carpenter and

joiner, who built one for himself in 1752.

[51] Perhaps a reference to the ‘ties’ of the lady’s bonnet.

[52] The two stanzas within brackets are not in several chap-book

copies. The many verbal differences indicate that attempts have

been made to touch up the song, but the absence of any very early

copy of it, makes it impossible to obtain an absolutely pure text.

These alterations, however, in no way affect the narrative.

[53] A wonderful rendering of ‘_cessio bonorum_.’

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been

corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within

the text and consultation of external sources.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,

and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. The spelling

of all Scottish dialect words has been left unchanged.

Pg 15: ‘is a concensus’ replaced by ‘is a consensus’.

Pg 42: ‘most charateristic’ replaced by ‘most characteristic’.

Pg 58: ‘gave then forth’ replaced by ‘gave them forth’.

Pg 61: “bear-to be ‘printed” replaced by “bears ‘to be printed”.

Pg 61: ‘duodesimo pages’ replaced by ‘duodecimo pages’.

Pg 63: ‘Turnamspike’ should probably be ‘Turnimspike’ and

“Jockie and Maggie’s” should probably be “Jocky and Maggy’s” but

they have been left unchanged since they are quotations from

other books.

Pg 64: ‘Dougald’ should be ‘Dougal’ but also has been left unchanged.

Pg 251 Footnote [42]: ‘of course, as as it is’ replaced by

‘of course, as it is’.

In the poetry the only word changes are:

Pg 134: “But all disper’d” replaced by “But all dispers’d”.

Pg 142: ‘But the Higlanders’ replaced by ‘But the Highlanders’.