4
Then the lofty colours fly,
Thousands wounded, thousands die,
They made him rue that he came nigh
The plains of Waterloo man.
Brave Wellington, with sword in hand.
His gallant heroes did command,
They soon did beat the rebel band,
And made their hero run, man:
In battle where his noble grace,
Did shew his dauntless warlike face,
Then Boney did commence his race,
And fled from Waterioo, man.
Many a race he's run indeed,
This seems to be his only creed,
Ay by his heels to save his head,
Ye ken that's naething new, man.
From Egypt's land he ran awa',
And from Moscow amang the snaw,
From Leipsic too; what he could claw,
And now from Waterloo, man.
New where's the crowns that he did wear;
And where the sceptre and the spear;
Ah, where are a' his friends so dear;
I think they are but few, man.
The bloody car he drew in vain
Across yon bonný verdant plain:
