Battle of Waterloo (Neilson)/Lawrie O'Broom's Rambles from Ireland to Scotland
Lawrie O’Broom’s Rambles from Ireland to
Scotland.
THE trade it is bad, now good people I hear;
And my name it is Lawrie O’Broom, sir,
My father, he died, left me all that he had,
’Twas a good breeding sow; and a loom, ſir.
I lived quite happy a very ſhort ſpace,
Till I married a wife, who ſoon alter’d the cafe,
She blackened my eyes, and ſpat in my face;
It was tight times for Lawrie O’Broome, ſir.
I thought to myſelf this would not long do,
my paſſion no longer could ſmother;
I inſtantly ſold off my loom and my ſow,
and ſent the jade hone to her mother.
And then for old Scotland I ſtraightway did ſteer,
to leave that ſweet place I once lov’d ſo dear,
With grief in my boſom, was ready to tear
the heart out of Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.
I ſhould’rd my cudgel and bundle again,
my figure being one of the oddeſt;
I did not weel ken the right soad frae the wrang,
but held to the road that was broadeſt,
Till at length I arrived at Donaghadee,
and to my ſurpriſe laid me cloſe on the ſea,
I wiſh’d for the wings of a ſwallow to flee;
what a tight bird was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir.
They hoisd me on board of a fight little ſmack,
anongſt a parcel of jovial gay fellows;
I rous’d up my heart, and I ſung Paddy Whack,
As we ſteer’d o’er the turbulent billows.
Till at length I got ſea-ſick, was ready to die,
and the meat in my belly was ſpung’d quite dry;
Whilſt I lay beſmear’d like a pig in a ftye;
for a doctor cried Lawrie O’Broom, ſir.
I bounc’d upon deck to view Ireland once more,
which was a dangerous risſ of my neck, ſir,
I ran up the maſt ladder to view Hibernia’s ſhore,
and then I was far above deck, ſir
When I found that old Ireland was out of any view,
I was forc’d to come down by the captain and crew,
I thought on my wife, my loom, and my ſow,
but far diſtant was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir
At four in the morning we came to Stranraer,
when the people were all ſaſt a deep, ſir,
The ſtreets I rambled all up and down,
Till a ſentry I chanc’d for to meet, ſir.
He aſk’d me my name, trade, and place of abode,
I told him I was a weaver juſt travelling the road,
And the name that my father had on me beftow’d,
I told him was Lawrie O’Broom, ſir,
The Sportsman be took a light peep at my dreſs,
And then he begin for to prat, ſir,
Saying, how does the Cropies in Ireland now do,
And whether the number’s got many or few?
The d--v--l a Cropie nor, Ireland I knew,
I am a Scotchman, ſaid Lawrie O’Broom,
O he ſaid i was a Cropie by the cut of my hair,
Which left me in tears for to wander;
I inſtantly toft up his heels in the air,
And laid him as flat as a flounder.
Whilſt he like a paddock did ſprawl on the ground,
I ran like a hare in front of a hound,
While the hills and the vallies did echo around,
With the people crying Lawrie O’Broom, Sir.