Classic Poem

Dire eighty-eight, ance mair took flight,
To ruin memorable,
O' Europe's Kings, Popes, Princes, Queens,
An' mankind toil and trouble:
First James third, by gun or sword,
Was slain at Milton Field, man;
An' English Dick was serv'd that trick,
By Richmond's sword an' shield, man.

A century more comes in my score,
When Scotland's royal Queen, man,
Fled in distress to cousin Bess,
Who jail'd her years eighteen, man;
To crown her woes, her blood it floes,
For Bess took off her head, man;
Yet James her son look'd tamely on,
A coward when in need, man.

In the next year, Spain's fleet did steer,
To conquer Bessy Toudor,
Their Armada, it rais'd a blaw,
Yet Drake bang'd the intruder;
His new fire ships, did scud their hips,
Than Philip play'd the coward;
For his whole fleet, was beat compleat,
By Essex, Drake an' Howard.

Next century gar'd Scotland drie,
Her final desolation;
For Willie made the highlands bleed,
About the revolution;
He at Glenco' caus'd dool and woe,
An' stole our fisheries, man,
An' drove Scotsmen frae Darian,
Which strong John Bull did please, man.

Next eighty eight presents a sight,
When Europe's a' in blood, man.
For Russia, an' Vienna,
Wa'd conquer if they cou'd man;
An' Bourbon sly, dis mischief try,
Wi' Dutch, Pole, Dane and Swede, man,
Which may provoke the Prussia cock,
Some nation to invade, man.

The King o' Spain, liv'd a long reign,
Like Charlie met wi' death, man,
An' George wha' shines, o' Brunswick's line,
His brain it got some skaith, man;
Thurlow and Pitt they thought it fit,
While the King bore affliction,
That Parliament, should make Regent
The Prince, but wi' restriction.

Then Fox an' Burk , went hard to work,
An' Paddy Sheridan, man,
They'd had the Prince as King at once,
An' bring their party in, man;
Pirt an' Thurlow, tho' they stood true,
They near-hand lost the heat, man,
Till Doctor Wills wha mends our scull's ,
Did cure the King compleat, man.

Some wha prov'd false to Willie's cause,
An' did his measure clog, man;
An' Queensberry, an' twa three mae,
Wi' Lothin got the bag, man;
Sae Willie Pitt he keeps his seat,
An' Britains weal he watches,
While Fox and Burke, they yowl an' bark,
While King George wears the breeches.

PART SECOND.

Hail liberty! whom tyranny,
Drove to America, man,
You crop the wings o' Europe's Kings,
Proud Pope, an' Turk, an' a', man.
The triple crown it will come down,
Quick in this habblesha, man,
Since great Bourbon now heaves a groan,
When kick'd like a foot-ba', man.

The jovial Poles are now free souls,
They spurn at Austria, man,
Now they'll no eek Thorn nor Dansick,
To greedy Prussia, man.
Now each despot they view their lot,
Since priests they wed nuns a', man,
An' the proud Dons, cries, down wi' thrones,
While Philip dreads he'll fa', man.

Now the sly Dutch vow they'll no touch,
Wi' ought but tread ava' man;
And the Grand Turk, he's glad to lurk
E'en to Sardinia man.
Proud Kate the scold, and great Leapold,
Death swears he'll hae their twa man;
In spite o' Wills an' a' his peels,
The Portuguese he'll thraw, man.

Twa royal cocks, York an' Lennox ,
'Bout honour had a blaw, man,
Their locks to frize, an' barbarize,
To court sweet laffes twa, man;
Now duelists they craw their crests,
They think nae beau shou'd fa', man,
But like yon beaux, just frize their locks,
An brag o' duels a', man.

The Rush an' Swede, now swears they'll aid,
Ayont the German Spa, man,
The emigrants, and a' the saunts,
Wha love the Roman law, man,
An' Tippoo Saib, the English crub,
Wha pilfers Asia, man,
An' Wathington, wi' peace dis crown,
Free North America, man.