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Traditional Celtic Music, Scottish Songs & Border Ballads
Scots' musician, songwriter, & balladeer.
Hazel Whyte
Broadsheet Ballads
She Put Her
Hand Upon His
Scull
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Were the outdated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.
Circa 1706
Transcription
She put her Hand upon his Scull,

with this Prophetick blessing. Be thou Dull, &c.


YE Coblers, and Taylors draw near,
Your Speecher is Low turn'd Poet,
That his Roundels are his own, you may Swear       
by each Stupid line, I could know it;

And up wi'd Alie, Alie. Up wi'd Alie now,&c.

And now my dear Mob, 'tis for You,
That his Ballad is set to the Trump,
The Musick is Pleasant and New,
And of piece with the Comical Lump.

And up wi'd Alie,Alie, Up wi'd she new, &c.

O ! To see how the World's beguild,
Your Hero was therght to have Mettle,
But Sence most Disdainfully smil'd,
And the Fool prov'd Knave in a little.

And up wi'd Alie, Alie, Up wi'd Alie new, &c.

For though in France he was deep in a Plot.
And Shaned Us here with another,
And two Thousand Pounds he has got,
And meerly by Bubling his Brother.
And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.

Yet the Syringe and Damnable Fluid,

Does rightly Decipher his   Riddle,

What hapred to this vertuos Druid,             

When he caught the Lady s---t by   the midle,

And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.

His Speeches the Treary knockt down,
with Tu quoque mi fili squadrone,
Will SCOTLAND part with Her crown;
And the Freedom of Drinking Tippone
And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.

The Droget, false Brans and his Bell,
And all his Ridiculous prose.
His Lordship a blockhead did tell,
Which his blunt heavy rhyming now shows,
And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.


Was there eversuch Rhetorick found.
A pox on the Villanous rains
The Deludge his reason has drowned.
And His Lordship must fish for his brains

And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.

That this Hero the Treaty Oppos'd,
Could neither from Thames nor Tyne,
But a Message that many suppos'd.
Come over with Burgundy Wine.
And up wi'd Alie, Alie, &c.

Some had it by Pen and Ink,
That in the Cause were Keen,
To Others was Tipped a Wink;
That had no Will to be Seen.
And up wi'd Alie, Alie, Up wi'd Nis Alie now &c.

F I N I S.