RED CLAN-RANALD'S MEN Is likewise a pretended transcript from the "Dwomony's beuk," and relates to the skirmish on Clifton Moor, on the 18th of December, 1745, where a party of M'Donalds, left to guard the baggage, so gallantly repulsed two regiments of cavalry, killing one hundred and fifty of them, and wounding more, while the Highlanders lost only twenty-four in all. THERE'S news-news-gallant news, That Caril disna ken, joe ; There's gallant news of tartan trews, There has been blinking on the bent, The red-coat sparks hae got their yerks, But Caril darena tell, joe. The prig dragoons they swore by 'zoons But when they fand the Highland brand, And had the frumpy frowardDuke, Wi' a' his brags o' weir, joe, But met our Charlie hand to hand, Had English might stood by the right, We darena say the right's the right, But we dare think, and take a drink Afore I saw our rightfu' prince Come fill a cup, and fill it up, We'll drink the toast ye ken, joe, And add, beside, the Highland plaid, And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe. We'll drink to Athole's gallant band, To Cluny of the Glen, joe, To Donald Blue, and Appin true, And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe; And cry our news-our gallant news, That Caril disna ken, joe, Our gallant news of tartan trews, And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe. UP AN' RIN AWA', GEORDIE. Ir is a pity that we cannot father this on the ideal "Dwomony" altogether. However, it is not just so bad when considered that it is an answer to a Whig song of 1746, beginning," Up an' rin awa', Charlie," &c. Up an' rin awa', Geordie, Up an' rin awa', Geordie, For feint a stand in Cumberland Your troops can mak ava, Geordie. And auntie Wade, wi' pick an' spade, The lads o' Westmoreland came up, An' limpit fast awa', Geordie. O had ye seen them at their posts, Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c. These Highland dogs, wi' hose an' brogs, They dree nae cauld at a', Geordie; Their hides are tann'd like Kendal bend, An' proof to frost an' snaw, Geordie. They dive like moudies in the yird, Like squirrels mount a wa', Geordie ; An' auld Carlisle, baith tower an' pile, Has got a waesome fa', Geordie. Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c. Brave Sir John Pennington is fled, And Andrew Pattison's laid bye, The prince of provosts a', Geordie; |