Battle of Philiphaugh/The Battle of Loudon-Hill

THE BATTLE OF LOUDON-HILL.

You'l marvel when I tell ye o’
⁠Our noble Burly, and his train;
When last he march’d up thro’ the land,
⁠Wi’ sax-and-twenty westland men.

Than they I ne’er o’ braver heard,
⁠For they had a’ baith wit and skill;
They proved right well, as I heard tell,
⁠As they cam’ up o’er Loudon-hill.

Weel prosper a’ the gospel lads,
⁠That are into the west countrie;
Ay wicked Claver’se to demean,
⁠And ay an ill dead may he die!

For he’s drawn up i’battle rank.
⁠An’ that baith soon and hastilie;
But they wha live till simmer come,

⁠Some bludie days for this will see.

But up spak’ cruel Claver’se then,
⁠Wi’ hastie wit, an’ wicked skill;
“Gi’e fire on yon westlan’ men;
⁠I think it is my sov’reign’s will."

But up bespake his cornet, then,
⁠“It’s be wi’ nae consent o’ me!
I ken I’ll ne’er come back again,
⁠An’ mony mae as weel as me.

“There is not ane of a’ yon men,
⁠But wha is worthy other three;
There is na ane amang them a’,
⁠That in his cause will stap to die.

“An’ as for Burly, him I knaw;
⁠He’s a man of honour, birth, an’ fame;
Gi’e him a sword into his hand,
⁠He’ll fight thysel’ an’ other ten."

But up spake wicked Claver’se then,
⁠I wat his heart it raise fu’ hie!
And he has cry’d that a’ might hear,
⁠“ Man, ye ha’e sair deceived me.

“I never ken’d the like afore,
⁠Na, never since I came frae hame,
That you sae cowardly here suld prove,
⁠An’ yet come of a noble Graeme.”

But up bespake his cornet, then,
⁠“Since that it is your honour’s will,
Mysel’ shall be the foremost man,

⁠That shall gi’e fire on Loudon-hill.

“At your command I’ll lead them on,
⁠But yet wi’ nae consent o’ me;
For weel I ken I’ll ne’er return,
⁠And mony mae as weel as me.”

Then up he drew in battle rank;
⁠I wat he had a bonnie train!
But the first time that bullets flew,
⁠Ay he lost twenty o’ his men.

Then back he came the way he gaed,
⁠I wat right soon and suddenly!
He gave command amang his men,
⁠And sent them back, and bade them flee.

Then up came Burly, bauld an’ stout,
⁠Wi’s little train o’ Westland men;
Wha mair than either aince or twice
⁠In Edinburgh confined had been.

They ha’e been up to London sent,
⁠An’ yet they’re a’ come safely down;
Sax troop o’ horsemen they ha’e beat,
⁠And chased them into Glasgow town.