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|A simple brief
thought on Scottish
Were the outdated
union not of some very
high value to England and
the English, why would
they fight so to try to
There are only so many
slices to a pie, for one to
have more, another must
Lastly - to those Scottish
"Loyalists" - to whom are
Scots royalty died in the
1700's so it can be no
Scots crown - And
certainly not it appears to
those who came before,
that bled for Scotland
and her freedom !
|In the words
of Burns, as he
wrote from the heart.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.
Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slaverie.
Wha would be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flie:
Wha for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Let him follow me.
By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!!
Choose your destiny.
|As I gae'd in by Huntly toon one morning for tae fee
I fell in wi' Bogie o' Cairnie, and wae him did agree
Tae ca' his twa best horses, or cart, or plough
Or do anything aboot fairmwork I very well could do
Now Bogie had a daughter, and her name was Isabelle
The lily of the valley, she was the primrose o' the dell
And when she went out walking she chose me for her guide
Doon by the burn o' Cairnie, to watch sma' fishes glide
And when three months were past and gone, the lassie lost
The red fell from her rosy cheeks and her eyes began to
And when nine months were past and gone, she brought
forth to me a son
And I was courtly sent for to see what could be done
I said I would marry her, Bogie said, that wouldnae do
He said, You're no match for my bonnie belle, and she's
nae match for you
And noo she's married tae a tinkerchiel wha bides in Huntly
He mends pots and pans and paraffin lamps and scours the
And maybe she's gotten a better match, auld Bogie cannae
Fareweel ye lads o' Huntly toon, and Bogie's bonnie belle