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
The Young Laird
And Edinburgh
Katie
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Were the outdated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 1860-1880
Transcription
THE   YOUNG   LAIRD and EDINBURGH KATY.

Now wat ye wha I met the Streen,
coming down the Street my Jo?
My Mistress in her Tartan Skreen,
fow Bonny braw, and sweet my Jo:
My Dear, quoth I thanks to the Night,
that never wish't a Lover ill,
Since ye're out of your Mother's Sight,
let's take a wake up to the Hill.

O Katy, wilt thou gang with me,
and leave the dinsome Town a while,
The Blossoms spruting frae the Tree,
and a the Summers gawn to smile,
The Mavis, Nightingale, and Lark,
the bleating Lamb and whisling Hynd,
And ilk Dale, Green Shaw, and Park,
will nourish Health glad your Mind.

Soon as the clear good Man of Day,
bends his Morning Draught of Dew,
We'll gae to some Burn side, and play,
and gather Flowers to busk your brow:
We'll pow the Deazies on the Green,
the lucken Gowans from the Bog,
Between Hands now & than we'll lean,
and sport upon the Velvet Fog.

There's up into a pleasant Glen,
a wie Pice frae my Father's Tower,
A cany sost and slowry Den,
which airling Birks has form'd a Bower;
When e're the Sun grows hot and warm,
we'll to the cauler Shade remove,
There will I lock thee in my Arm,
and love and kiss, and kiss & love.

Katy's   Answer.

My Mother's ay glouring o'er me,
Tho' she did the same before me,
I cannot get leave
to look to my Love,
Or else she'll be like to devour me,
Right fain woo'd I take ye'r offer,
Swet Sir, but I'll Tine my Tocher
Then Sandy ye'll fret,
and wyt your poor Kate,
When e'er ye seek in ye'r toom Goffer,
For tho' my Father has plenty,
Of Silver and Plenishing dainty;
Yet he's unco swear
to twin wi his Gear,
And sae we had need to be Tenty:
Tutor my Parents wi Caution
Be wylie in ilk a Motion,
Brag well o' ye'er Land,
and there's my leal Hand,
Win them. I'll be at your Devotion.

F   I   N   I   S.


AN Excellent New BALLAD INTITULED,
BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY.

Bessy Bell and Marry Gray,
they are two bonny Lasses.    
They bigg'd a Bower on yon Burn-brae,
and theek'd it o'er wi Rashes,
Fair Bessy Bell, I loo'd the Streen,
I thought I ne'r cou'd alter;
But Mary Gray's twa pauky Eyn,
they gar my Fancy falter.

Now Bessy's Hair's like a Lint Tap,
She Smiles like a May Morning,
When Phebus starts frae Thetis Lap,
the Hill wi Rays adorning;
White is her Neck, soft is her Hand,
her Wast and Feet's fow genty,   
With ilka Grace she can command,
her Lips O wow! they're dainty!

And Mary's Locks are like the Craw,
her Eys like Diamonds glances,
She's ay so clean, red up and braw,
she kills when e'er she dances.
Blyth as a Kid with Wit at Will
she blooming Tight and tall is;
And guids her Airs sae gracefow still,
O Jove! She's like thy Pallas.

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
ye unco' fair oppress us:
Our Fancies gaes between you twae,
ye are sick bonny Lasses:
Wae's me! for baith I canna get,
to ane by Law we're stented;
Then I'll draw Cuts, and take my Fate
and be with an contented.

F I N I S.