4
An' fast the Frenchmen wounded
Wha tried to rin, but couldna win—
They were sae well surrounded.—
They hack't, an' hash't an' stick't an' slash't,
Nae quarters to them gave, man:
But wi' a curse set man an' horse
To quarter in his grave, man.
Then shill an' heigh the pipes did screigh,
The Greys their bugles blew, man;
Which made the heart o' 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 black Forty-twa,
An' danc'd their Highland fling, man.
They made me pay their pipes that day,
An' kill'd my Frenchmen brave, man;
An' made me dance hame owre 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;
