4
Wha tried to rin, but couidna win,
They were so well surrounded—
They hack’t an’ hasht, an’ stick’t an’ gash’t,
Nae quarters to them gave, man,
But wi’ a curse sent man an’ horse
To quarter in his grave, man.
Then shrill an’ heigh the pipes did screigh,
The Greys their bugles blew, man,
Which made the heart of Bonaparte
To sink on Waterloo, man.
‘These pipes,’ said he, ‘have haunted me
In every place I’ve gone, man,
And here they come again to bum—
The devil break their drone, man.
‘In Egypt’s reel, (I mind it weel)
They play’d a bonny spring, man;
Up gat their braw blue Forty-twa,
An’ danc’d the Highland fling, man,
They made me pay their pipes that day,
And kill’d my Frenchmen brave, man;
An’ made me dance hame o’er to France,
My ain crown’d head to save, man.
‘So I’m afraid that spring they play’d,
This day they will renew, man,
I’ll better rin while I can win,
Afore they come in view, man;
I wadna fear the Cossacks sair,
Wi’ spears o’ pointed steel, man;
