General Abercrombie's Elegy/Address to Sandy

ADDRESS TO SANDY.

Air.—The Hills o’ Glenorchy.

O sandy what, makes you grumble and growl,
A mind discontented will ne'er do weel.
It’s nought but a harrowing out o’ your soul,
To think on, or (illegible text) at the (illegible text) or the meal
What though ye should wallow like wine in a gutter,
Divested at ance o your (illegible text) and your (illegible text),
Be silent or soon you will (illegible text).
As mak’ you (illegible text), and run neck and heel.

A cog o' (illegible text) a scot was a feast,
When Scotland stood single, but now when she's join’d
To her pamper'd sister she's (illegible text) her taste,
To feed on rich (illegible text) she now is inclin'd
But she (illegible text)
To place (illegible text) luxuries upon her table,
I donbt when she's run out the length o' her caole,
She'll hae to stop short or come happin behind.

The stout camlet claith that was worn by our dads
Is now thrown aside for best superfine,
Pelisses and great-coats instead o' the plaids,
An’ beavers alas, for the jewels o' langsyne.
Our fathers were happier wi' brose and wi' bonnets
Than fools now-a-days wi' their silks, wine and wannets,
An lad, since our heads are gaun round like the planets.
We'll surely rin daft if sic dainties we tyne,

A few years ago, in the midst o' war,
Our trade flourished finely and haughty were we
But now by the piper, we've gotten a scar,
Which we'll ne'er forget till the day that we die.
Our guineas and bullets flew thick in the struggle.
At length we prevail'd o'er the Corsican bogle,
But still I'm afraid that we shortly maun shogle,
Or shake like the leaf on the tall aspen tree.

Then Sandy be silent, but dinna be sad,
Altho' ye are scrimpit o' mair than your tea,
Tho' meal should be costly and scarce to behad,
Ye e'en maun submit to the great pow'rs that be
Wi' bauchles for boots, an your braw Sunday coats
Turned threadbare, or covered wi patches an'mots
Wi’ brochan instead o' fat broth in your pots,
Be thankfu' and ken it's your duty to dree.

Altho’ you should grumble it matters not much,
You ne’er will do better, an’ that you will see,
The lads that are fens fed and haughty and rich,
Will mock at your cares nor regard ye a flee
Ye mind when ye sent up petitions to Lunnon,
They laugh at your want and began wi their punnin,
An’ should ye grow furious you’re sure o’a gunnin,
Or wizzens weel rax'd wi’ the hemp on a tree.

Ye ken the bees foster and honour their drones,
An' birds wi’ gay plumage demand aye esteem,
Be frank then an' frugal and honour your dons,
Altho' they three fourths o' your living should claim.
It's this that will make ye respeckit an happy
An' fortune may aid you altho' she's a taupie,
But rather chace knots in youi niggard brose cappie
Than growl tho' your rulers in luxuries swim.

Ilk part o' creation is ruled by another.
The small birds maun yield to the howlets and hawks ;
Then though you may think a great man your brither,
You dare not cry too at a deed that he acts.
Should grand Habeas Corpus be under suspension .
Be cautious and guard wi' the sirictest attention
For then should ye twa or three seditious words mention,
Ye'll get a dark dungeon or death for your cracks.