| |
| TO the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke, | |
| ‘Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; | |
| So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, | |
| Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. | |
| Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, | 5 |
| Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; | |
| Come open the West Port and let me gang free, | |
| And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!’ | |
| |
| Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, | |
| The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat; | 10 |
| But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘Just e’en let him be, | |
The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.’
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, | |
| Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; | |
| But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, | 15 |
Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market was crammed, | |
| As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; | |
| There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e, | |
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc. | 20 |
| |
| These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, | |
| And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers; | |
| But they shrunk to close-heads and the causeway was free, | |
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, | 25 |
| And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; | |
| ‘Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, | |
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.’
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| The Gordon demands of him which way he goes— | |
| ‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose! | 30 |
| Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, | |
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| ‘There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth, | |
| If there’s lords in the Lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North; | |
| There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, | 35 |
Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| ‘There’s brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; | |
| There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside; | |
| The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free, | |
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc. | 40 |
| |
| ‘Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks— | |
| Ere I own an usurper, I’ll couch with the fox; | |
| And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, | |
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!’
Come fill up my cup, etc. | |
| |
| He waved his proud hand and the trumpets were blown, | 45 |
| The kettle-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on, | |
| Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee | |
| Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. | |
| Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, | |
| Come saddle the horses, and call up the men, | 50 |
| Come open your gates, and let me gae free, | |
| For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee! | |
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