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|Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
|Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
|Praise O' The
|A simple brief
thought on Scottish
Were the outdated
union not of some very
high value to England and
the English, why would
they fight so to try to
There are only so many
slices to a pie, for one to
have more, another must
Lastly - to those Scottish
"Loyalists" - to whom are
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.
Proper new Ballad in praise of the gallant Weavers.
To its own proper new Tune.
Gentlemen, and listen well
to a Song I'm to endite,
Praise of all the Weavers
how much do I delight;
to speak forth what I think of them,
for they deserve the praise,
And of their works these Garments are,
which makes pride now a days.
Oh all you Trades and Callings,
to offend you I am loath;
But if the Weavers be not fine,
from whence comes the fine Cloath?
What is't that makes us gallent?
comes not from that ingine?
Who works the Silks and Satins,
Strips, Stuffs, and Cloath so fine.
Is't not the gallant Weavers?
to praise them I am glad;
Were not their work, full of Ingine;
sure I would go unclade.
Come here ye peeping Rascals
that Weavers discommends;
Were't not their handy work, Sirs,
you'd go with naked Lends.
The Dyer says, we colour Cloath,
and the Tailor sayes we sew,
Through Weavers hands it must first come
ere it get Seam or Hew.
Fair fall the gallant Weavers,
that is of such Ingine,
Whose works to be commended,
there Cloath it is so fine.
Forth comes some others, reasonless,
Thief Webster they will cry;
Hold ye your tongue my Neighbours;
you'r obliged, so am I,
No thieves for to esteem them,
but honest men they are ;
Your Mothers Reel may prove o're short,
their measure it may marr.
I pray, good Wives, if ye do think
your Yarn they do steale,
Keep it at Home beside your Pose,
and then ye will do weel.
These things that are most necessar,
folks uses to think best;
'Mongst such wee'll place the Weavers:
to overcome the rest.
If ye can work your Yarn at home,
wee'll Weavers nought esteem,
But it's the thing ye cannot do,
so hold your tongue good Deem,
And with me praise the Weavers,
whose work ye cannot want,
and cease from all ignominy.
when ye begin to rant.
Then comes one forth without a cause,
them creashie he will call.
And silly man he mindeth not
his Minnies fault at all.
How she must Oyl and Butter have,
though all the rest should want,
To creash her Wool ere it be spun,
then he begins to rant,
And calls the Weavers creashie,
when she the same begins;
For all that if it were not Creasht,
her wool much the worse spins.
There's no Creash that he uses
may make you raise this name,
On him who makes his work right tight;
when ye do creash your wame.
I pray you hold your tongue, Sir,
and speak no more to me
He had better strive to mense his work,
than Creash his womb like thee:
The Creash that be makes use of,
upon his work is seen:
But making use as thou does,
it is devoured clean.
How Should I praise the weaver,
whose worth cannot be told?
Whose work is the most usefull,
therefore they may be bold
To kyth themselves to be Work men;
when others hold their tongue:
And he that discommends him,
I'd beat him with a Rung.
I held my tongue and heark'ned
when some more fit than I
Should have mark'd these abuses
which so reproachfully
Did overcome the Weaver,
that's an industrious man,
But negligent I found them,
So I at last began
The Weavers Commendation
not able to make end,
Because they are so commodious,
the half cannot be Penn'd.
Pry pardon me brave Weavers;
when me far short ye see
Of your Deserts that's matchless,
it is the veritie.
14. The weavers Work I do desire
so long as I may live,
An worthy Estimation
I of these Work men have;
Now all my gallant Weavers,
my leave I take of you,
And wisheth you to prosper,
so fair a while Adieu,