Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)

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 honor and me

Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,

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;

But the Provost, douce man, said, “Just e’en let him be,

The gude town is weel quit of that, Deil of Dundee.”

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 ee,

As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.

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.

“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.”