Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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An Adventure of Rob Roy's.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
An Adventure of Rob Roy's.
(1745)
In a small, lonely roadside inn
Out yon by Bennochie,
Six Hanoverian soldiers sat
And played at “Rig-ma-Ree.”
Deep lay the torn and scattered cards;
The dice were rattling loud,
When in there strode a Hielandman
Like one dropped from a cloud.
Out yon by Bennochie,
Six Hanoverian soldiers sat
And played at “Rig-ma-Ree.”
Deep lay the torn and scattered cards;
The dice were rattling loud,
When in there strode a Hielandman
Like one dropped from a cloud.
He took a hand and played his best,
But aye the suit went wrong;
He paid his gold and threw again,
But Fate was still too strong.
Then with a crafty, angry smile
The cards he slowly felt,
And tossed the dice into the punch,
And laughed to see them melt.
But aye the suit went wrong;
He paid his gold and threw again,
But Fate was still too strong.
Then with a crafty, angry smile
The cards he slowly felt,
And tossed the dice into the punch,
And laughed to see them melt.
Taking a court-card from the pack,
He crushed it with his heel—
Against the wall he set his back,
Defied their flashing steel;
Flung in their eyes the painted knaves
And the vermilion kings;
Spurned them and braved that nest of snakes
With all their threatening stings.
He crushed it with his heel—
Against the wall he set his back,
Defied their flashing steel;
Flung in their eyes the painted knaves
And the vermilion kings;
Spurned them and braved that nest of snakes
With all their threatening stings.
271
“I know you,” Rob Macgregor cried,
“And all the woe and ruin
You're working in this mountain land,
And all the sins you're brewing.
You come from many a smoking strath
And many a blood-stained village;
You slay the children in their beds—
The father at the tillage.”
“And all the woe and ruin
You're working in this mountain land,
And all the sins you're brewing.
You come from many a smoking strath
And many a blood-stained village;
You slay the children in their beds—
The father at the tillage.”
The sergeant snatched his musket up
And threw it to “Present”;
The bandsman drew his bayonet out
With little good intent.
Butt-end, all ready for the blow,
The third man's firelock swung;
The fifer would have drawn his sword,
But to the sheath it clung.
And threw it to “Present”;
The bandsman drew his bayonet out
With little good intent.
Butt-end, all ready for the blow,
The third man's firelock swung;
The fifer would have drawn his sword,
But to the sheath it clung.
The Highlandman laughed loud and long,
Then kicked the benches over,
Danced three steps of a Highland reel,
And cried, “I'm Rob the Rover!”
The brawny sergeant flung at him
A stool that cleared the table;
It hit the bandsman on the shins—
And then began the Babel.
Then kicked the benches over,
Danced three steps of a Highland reel,
And cried, “I'm Rob the Rover!”
The brawny sergeant flung at him
A stool that cleared the table;
It hit the bandsman on the shins—
And then began the Babel.
But suddenly the Highlander,
With a smile frank and jolly,
Cried out, “Good folks, one moment, please,
I've lost my favourite collie.
One whistle ere the fun begins,
And then we'll do it hearty;
I would not for a thousand crowns
Break up a pleasant party.”
With a smile frank and jolly,
Cried out, “Good folks, one moment, please,
I've lost my favourite collie.
One whistle ere the fun begins,
And then we'll do it hearty;
I would not for a thousand crowns
Break up a pleasant party.”
“Ugh! shmite de fool!” the sergeant cried;
The others, with more pity,
Said, “Let the clod bring in his hoond—
We'll sell it in next city.”
As Rob he whistled shrill and clear,
Loud laughed the sneering bandsman;
Till through the shattered door there rushed
At least two dozen clansmen.
The others, with more pity,
Said, “Let the clod bring in his hoond—
We'll sell it in next city.”
As Rob he whistled shrill and clear,
Loud laughed the sneering bandsman;
Till through the shattered door there rushed
At least two dozen clansmen.
When Rob, with white rose in his hat,
Cried out, “God save King Charles!”
You should have seen the sour grimace
Distort those coward carles.
“God save the Stuarts and the right,
And down with the Pretender,
And that's your little German laird;
From Scotland God defend her!”
Cried out, “God save King Charles!”
You should have seen the sour grimace
Distort those coward carles.
“God save the Stuarts and the right,
And down with the Pretender,
And that's your little German laird;
From Scotland God defend her!”
And quick his claymore whistled out,
In every blow a life;
The rogues at bay turned pale to see
The opening of the strife.
But Rob he cried, “Sheathe all your swords,
And let these Dutch rats scamper;
I trow,” he said, “you gibbet-birds,
This day has been a damper.”
In every blow a life;
The rogues at bay turned pale to see
The opening of the strife.
But Rob he cried, “Sheathe all your swords,
And let these Dutch rats scamper;
I trow,” he said, “you gibbet-birds,
This day has been a damper.”
For Rob was generous of blood,
Brave, frank, and lion-hearted,
And only smiled as up the glen
They skulkingly departed.
Then passing round the whisky-horn
To every brave Macgregor,
He said, “They'll not forget the cards
They dealt the Hieland beggar.”
Brave, frank, and lion-hearted,
And only smiled as up the glen
They skulkingly departed.
Then passing round the whisky-horn
To every brave Macgregor,
He said, “They'll not forget the cards
They dealt the Hieland beggar.”
If I was bold enough to say
They left with all their spoil,
I should not be a truthful man
(A labourer's worth his toil).
They left their money and their arms,
Their coats and all about 'em,
And, bare as Adam, took the road,
With curses—Devil doubt 'em!
They left with all their spoil,
I should not be a truthful man
(A labourer's worth his toil).
They left their money and their arms,
Their coats and all about 'em,
And, bare as Adam, took the road,
With curses—Devil doubt 'em!
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |