One of the largest collections of Scottish Ballads & Scots Folk Songs, lyrics, celtic music and downloads available on the internet.
Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
Hazel Whyte
Broadsheet Ballads
Arms And The
Man
A simple brief
thought on Scottish
Independance.

Were the outdated
union not of some very
high value to England and
the English, why would
they fight so to try to
keep it?

There are only so many
slices to a pie, for one to
have more, another must
have less.

Lastly - to those Scottish
"Loyalists" - to whom are
you loyal?
Scots royalty died in the
1700's so it can be no
Scots crown - And
certainly not it appears to
those who came before,
that bled for Scotland
and her freedom !  
In the words
of Burns, as he
wrote from the heart.

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Chains and slaverie.

Wha would be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
Let him turn and flie:

Wha for Scotland's king and law,
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa',
Let him follow me.

By Oppression's woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!
Let us Do - or Die!!!

Choose your destiny.
These are songs, ballads and rhymes taken straight from the old
"broadsheet press" which existed in Scotland between about 1550 and
1890. Where possible we have simply put direct scans in place.
Transcription
ARMS and the MAN, I sing.

A BALLAD.

I.
GOD prosper our King, and the King's noble Sons!
May their Praises refound from the Mouths of their Guns!
Till Rebellion and all civil Discord may cease,
And these Realms be restor'd to a flourishing Peace.

II.
How this War first begun, and the Progress 't has made,
Has never been sung, tho' 't has often been said ;
Yet great Deeds to record to great Poets belongs,
As Homer and Virgil set forth in their Songs.

III.
The Scots, as the Swiss, making Fighting a Trade,
(For ever betraying, for ever betray'd)
Like the Frogs, sick of Log, chufe a King of their own ;
'Twill ne'er out of the Flesh what is bred in the Bone.

IV.
From Rome a young Hero, well known, they invite
To accept of a Crown, which he claims as his Right ;
In City and Town they their Monarch proclaim,
And their old King and new King are one and the fame.

V.
When these Tidings reach'd England, three Chieftains they
chose,
Rebellion to rout, and its Progress oppose.
But 1 st, 2d, and 3d, were all struck with Dismay;
Thrice happy the Man who could first run away.

VI.
Now great Preparations proclaim their great Fears ;
The Militia, the Dutch, the Troops raised by the Dears;
They associte, subscribe fast vote and address
For you know loyal Subjects can do nothing lets.

VII.
Horse, Foot and Dragoons, from loft Flanders they Call,
With Hessians and Danes, and the Devil and all,
The Hunters and Rangers, led by Oglethorpe,
And the Church, at the Arse of the Bishop of York.

VIII.
And, pray, who so fit to lead forth this Parade,
As the Babe of Tangier, my old Grandmother Wade ?
Whose Cunning's so quick, but whose Motion's so slow,
That the Rebels march'd on, whilst he stuck in the Snow.

IX.
Poor London, alas! is scar'd out of its Wits,
With Arms, and Alarms! as fad Soldiers as Cits,
Sure of dying by Inches, whatever Cause thrives,
Since by parting with Money, they part with their Lives.

X.
But the Genius of Britain appears in the Duke,
Their Courage to raise, and their Fears to rebuke;
He march'd Day and Night till he got to the Rear,
And then sent us Word, He had nothing to fear.

XI.
All Night, under Arms, the brave Duke kept his Ground,
But the Devil a Rebel was there to be found ;
Then the Foot got on Horseback, the News give Account,
But that would not do, so the Horsemen dismount,

XII.
A fierce Fight then ensu'd by a Sort of Owl-Light,
Where none got the Day, because it was Night,
And so dark, that the Truth on't we never shall get,
Unless 'tis clear'd up by another Gazette.