Ballads on Mr. Heron’s Election, 1795

“Fy, let us a’to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin’ there;
For Murray’s light horse are to muster,
And O how the heroes will swear!
And there will be Murray, Commander,
And Gordon, the battle to win;
Like brothers they’ll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance and kin.

And there will be black-nebbitJohnie,
The tongue o’ the trumpto them a’;
An he getna Hell for his haddin’,
The Deil gets na justice ava.

And there will be Kempleton’s birkie,
A boy nosae black at the bane;
But as to his fine Nabob fortune,
We’ll e’en let the subject alane.

And there will be Wigton’s new Sheriff;
Dame Justice fu’brawly has sped,
She’s gottenthe heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord! what’s become o’ the head?
And there will be Cardoness, Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness’ eyes;
A wightthat will weather damnation,
The Devil the prey will despise.

And there will be Douglasses doughty,
New christening towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissin’ the-o’ a Peer:
And there will be folk frae Saint Mary’s
A house o’ great merit and note;
The deil ane but honours them highly-
The deilanewill giethem his vote!

And there will be Kenmure sae gen’rous,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from starkreprobation,
He lent them his name in the Firm.
And there will be lads o’ the gospel,
Muirhead wha’s as gude as he’s true;
And there will be Buittle’s Apostle,
Wha’s mairo’ the black than the blue.

And there will be Logan M’Dowall,
Sculdudd’ryan’ he will be there,
And also the Wild Scot o’ Galloway,
Sogering, gunpowder Blair.
But we winnamention Redcastle,
The body, e’enlet him escape!
He’d venture the gallows for siller,
An’twere nathe cost o’ the rape.

But where is the Doggerbank hero,
That made “”Hogan Mogan”” to skulk?
Poor Keith’s ganeto hell to be fuel,
The auld rotten wreck of a Hulk.
And where is our King’s Lord Lieutenant,
Saefam’d for his gratefu’ return?
The birkieis gettin’ his Questions
To say in Saint Stephen’s the morn.

But markye! there’s trusty Kerroughtree,
Whose honor was ever his law;
If the Virtues were pack’d in a parcel,
His worthmight be sample for a’;
And strangan’ respectfu’s his backing,
The maisto’ the lairds wi’ him stand;
Naegipsy-like nominal barons,
Wha’sproperty’s paper-not land.

And there, fraethe Niddisdale borders,
The Maxwells will gather in droves,
TeughJockie, staunch Geordie, an’Wellwood,
That griens for the fishes and loaves;
And there will be Heron, the Major,
Wha’ll ne’er be forgot in the Greys;
Our flatt’ry we’ll keep for some other,
Him, only it’s justice to praise.

And there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming’s gudeKnight,
And there will be roarin Birtwhistle,
Yet luckily roars i’the right.
And there’ll be Stamp Office Johnie,
(Tak tenthow ye purchase a dram!)
And there will be gay Cassencarry,
And there’ll be glegColonel Tam.

And there’ll be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hingbythe neck,
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing-
His merit had wonhim respect.

And there will be rich brother nabobs,
(Tho’ Nabobs, yet men not the worst,)
And there will be Collieston’s whiskers,
And Quintin-a lad o’ the first.

Then hey! the chaste Interest o’Broughton
And hey! for the blessin’s ’twill bring;
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom ‘twould make him a king;
And hey! for the sanctified Murray,
Our land whawi’chapels has stor’d;
He founder’d his horse among harlots,
Butgiedthe auldnaigto the Lord.”

By |2018-11-12T18:25:54+00:00November 12th, 2018|Robert Burns Poems, Song, Type|

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