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The wretch that would a tyrant own,
And the wretch, his true sworn brother,
Who’d set the mob above the throne,
May they be damn d together.
Who will not sing, God save the king,
Shall hang as high’s tire steeple;
But while we sing, God save the king,
We’ll ne’er forget the_people.
But while we sing, &c.
————O————
TODLEN BUTT, AND TODLEN.
When I’ve a saxpence under my thumb,
Then I’ll get credit in ilka town:
But ay when I’m poor they bid me gang by;
O ! poverty parts good company.
Todlen hame, todlen hame,
Cou’dna my love come todlen hame?
Fair fa’ the gudewife, and send her good sale,
She gi’es us white bannocks to drink her ale,
Syne if that her tippany chance to be sma’,
We’ll take a good scour o’t, and ca’t awa'.
Todlen hame, todlen hame,
As round as a neep come todlen hame.
