Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle Edited by Alexander Rodger |
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| ANDREW WHAUP TO SIMEON CLYDE. |
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 | Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle |  |
ANDREW WHAUP TO SIMEON CLYDE.
Hazleknowe, Dec. 25, 1834.
Dear Simeon,—I have been again pestered by that half-daft wandering minstrel who lately sung about the ‘Airn Juk o' W---.’ I wish I could get quit of him; but no—I am doomed to be crossed in my path by him at every turn. I have told him again and again, that I do not understand his nonsense; but still he comes and bothers me with his blethers. I told him I would put him in print; but that only excited his vanity the more. For any sake, do put him in print, with all his imperfections on his head, and shame the blockhead from ryhming any more. Show him up in the Liberator.
Yours,
Andrew Whaup.
THE AIRN JUK AND HONEST ROBIN.
O why were ye sae lang awa',
My honest Robin P---?
Our Q--- has grutten, storm'd an' a',
An' play'd the vora deil;
Our K--- has f---l---d his braw new breeks,
Na, turned a downright veal,
Then, why awa' sae mony weeks,
My honest Robin P---?
My honest Robin P---?
Our Q--- has grutten, storm'd an' a',
An' play'd the vora deil;
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Na, turned a downright veal,
Then, why awa' sae mony weeks,
My honest Robin P---?
Ye kent ye were to be the man
That was to tak' the helm,
When we had got matured our plan
That wad the Whigs o'erwhelm.
Ye kent they couldna reef a sail,
Nor yet direct the wheel;
Then, why did you in duty fail,
Our Anchor—Robin P---?
That was to tak' the helm,
When we had got matured our plan
That wad the Whigs o'erwhelm.
Ye kent they couldna reef a sail,
Nor yet direct the wheel;
Then, why did you in duty fail,
Our Anchor—Robin P---?
Wee Mothy is sae wondrous glad,
He's kicking at the moon,
An' Sam, although a solid lad,
Is dancing but his shoon;
An' Blackwood, too, our grand ally,
Is big wi' fiery zeal;
Then, why loot ye the time gae by,
My stoop—my Robin P---?
He's kicking at the moon,
An' Sam, although a solid lad,
Is dancing but his shoon;
An' Blackwood, too, our grand ally,
Is big wi' fiery zeal;
Then, why loot ye the time gae by,
My stoop—my Robin P---?
Dear Arthur, sit ye down by me,
An' list to what I say—
I kent our turn would soon come round,
But couldna guess the day.
But since we're in, let's face the Rads
Wi' bullet, fire, and steel,
We'll soon disperse the churchless squads,
As sure as I'm a P---.
An' list to what I say—
I kent our turn would soon come round,
But couldna guess the day.
But since we're in, let's face the Rads
Wi' bullet, fire, and steel,
We'll soon disperse the churchless squads,
As sure as I'm a P---.
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For wee Buccleugh is straightway gaun
To keep the Irish down,
An' lift the tythes—nor let big Dan
Usurp the Croppy Crown.
‘Then Church and Tythes’ be still the cry;
We'll let the Rebels feel,
We still have power to crush the fry,
An' gie them orange Peel.
To keep the Irish down,
An' lift the tythes—nor let big Dan
Usurp the Croppy Crown.
‘Then Church and Tythes’ be still the cry;
We'll let the Rebels feel,
We still have power to crush the fry,
An' gie them orange Peel.
| Stray Leaves from the Portfolios of Alisander the Seer, Andrew Whaup, and Humphrey Henkeckle | |