I tell thee, fellow, whoe'er thou be,
That made this fine sing-song of me,
Thou art a rhyming sot:
These very lines do thee bewray;
This barren wit makes all men say,.mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}5
'Twas some rebellious Scot.
But it's no wonder that you sing
Such songs of me who am no king,
When every Blue Cap swears
He'll not obey King James his ba'rn,10
That hugs a bishop under his arm,
And hangs them in his ears.
Had I been of your covenant,
You would have call'd me John of Gaunt,
And given me great renown;15
But, now I am John for the King,
You say I am but a poor Suckling,
And thus you cry me down.
Well, it's no matter what you say
Of me or mine, that ran away:20
I hold it no good fashion
A loyal subject's blood to spill,
When we have knaves enough to kill
By force and proclamation.
Commend me unto Lashly stout,25
And all his pedlars him about:
Tell them without remorse
That I will plunder all their packs
Which they have gotten, with the stolen knick-knacks,
With these my hundred horse.30
This holy war, this zealous firk
Against the bishops and the kirk,
And its pretended bravery—
Religion, all the world can tell,
Amongst Highlanders ne'er did dwell—35
It's but to cloak your knavery.
Such desperate gamesters as you be,
I cannot blame for tutoring me,
Since all you have is down;
And every boor forgets the plough,40
And swears that he'll turn gamester now
And venture for a crown.