Classic Poem

Will ye go to Sheriff-muir,
Bauld John o' Innisture,
There to see the noble Mar,
And his Highland laddies?
A' the true men o' the north,
Angus, Huntley, and Seaforth,
Scouring on to cross the Forth,
Wi' their white cockadies!

There you'll see the banners flare,
There you'll hear the bagpipes rair,
And the trumpet's deadly blare,
Wi' the cannons' rattle.
There you'll see the bauld M'Craws,
Cameron's and Clanronald's raws,
And a' the clans, wi' loud huzzas,
Rushing to the battle.

There you'll see the noble Whigs,
A' the heroes o' the brigs,
Raw hides and wither'd wigs,
Riding in array, man.
Ri'en hose and ragged hools,
Sour milk and girnin gools,
Psalm-beuks and cutty-stools,
We'll see never mair, man.

Will ye go to Sheriff-muir,
Bauld John o' Innisture?
Sic a day, and sic an hour,
Ne'er was in the north, man.
Siccan sights will there be seen;
And, gin some be nae mista'en,
Fragrant gales will come bedeen,
Frae the water o' Forth, man.