Air - " Thurst's Defeat." When crafty wee Bona' brak' oot o' his prison, The warld was a' wonderin' after his tail ; Wi' twa-three auld worthies he thought on invasion, Then aff, neck or naething, the bodie set sail ; His guid ammunition defied opposition, Wi' places an' pensions he scatter'd the shore, While mony a hunner cam' rinnin' for honour, An' ca'd him a name he was proud o' before. Then aff, in procession, for Paris they ventured, While Bona' courageously led up the van; But Louis gat word, ere the plunderer entered, An' made up his pack, an' awa' wi't he ran Then wha was sae hearty as wee Bonaparty, Tac see his auld frien's an' acquaintance again ; But liars and robbers are aye kittle nei'bo'rs, An' he maun be master o' mair than his ain. Quo' Sawney to Donal', " The bodie's no canny, It mak'sna tho' we s'ou'd gae o'er twa-three days ; Tak' ye a wheen Highlanders, hardy an' han'y, An' I'll be at han' wi' the Royal Scots Greys : " They march't aff thegither, without e'er a swither, Their braidswords, their guns, an' their bonnets sae blue ; They a' were fu' merry while crossin' the ferry, An' met Bonaparty just at Waterloo. Then Bona' advanced wi' his troops in a fury, An' yoket oor birkies wi' four tae their ane; " Tak' time, man," quo' Donal'; " what deil's a' your hurry ? Ye'll soon get your fill o't, an' that ye shall fin'." He met sic resistance, he took tae a distance, A gun shot an' mair, out the gate o' Nainsel ; Nae doobt, he had min' o' the fields o' Corunna, An' Egypt, whaur a' his Invincibles fell. Yet thousan's on thousan's he sent tae the battle, Artillery, cavalry, marksmen an' a', Their drums an' their cannon did awfully rattle, When Sawney cam' up wi' his Greys in a raw; Their braidswords a' glancin', their horses a' prancin', Sae warlike their form, an' sae rapid their pace; The yird it was shakin', the French were a' quakin', While Bona' cried out, " O, these terrible Greys " ! His bold cuirassiers they drape tae distraction, Thro' columns o' infantry cut up their way ; When firm, in the red-reekin' gush o' the action, A favourite Eagle was ta'en by a Grey. Sic shootin' an' stickin', sic cuffin' an' kickin', The like was na' seen sin' the warld began- The French couldna' bide it, they were sae ill guided, Sae a' that were able teuk leg fort an' ran. They sent little Bona' tae Isle St. Helena, I wonner they warna' for knockin' him doun ; How Louis may thrive aboot Paris I kenna', But there he's possessin' his seat an' his croun. We'll chant owre the story to auld Scotland's glory. An' fill up a dram o' her whusky anew. Tae Sawney an' Donal'. wha smartly did han'le, The errand that led them tae see Waterloo.
The Village of Chryston - North Lanarkshire - Scotland
Walter Watson
The Chryston Poet