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To the Lords
of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke.
‘Ere the
King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up
my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle your horses,
and call up your men;
Come open the West Port and
let me gang free,
And it’s room for the bonnets of
Bonny Dundee!’
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up
the street,
The bells are rung backward, the drums
they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man, said,
‘Just e’en let him be,
The Gude Town is weel quit of
that Deil of Dundee.’
Come fill up my cup, etc.
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow;
But the
young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee,
Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee!
Come
fill up my cup, etc.
With sour-featured Whigs
the Grass-market was crammed,
As if half the West
had set tryst to be hanged;
There was spite in each
look, there was fear in each e’e,
As they watched
for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my
cup, etc.
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits
and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill
cavaliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads and the
causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet of
Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
He
spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And
with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke;
‘Let Mons
Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,
For
the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.’
Come fill
up my cup, etc.
The Gordon demands of him which
way he goes—
‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of
Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear
tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny
Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
‘There are
hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth,
If
there’s lords in the Lowlands, there’s chiefs in the
North;
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand
times three,
Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny
Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.
‘There’s
brass on the target of barkened bull-hide;
There’s
steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;
The brass
shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free,
At
the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill up
my cup, etc.
‘Away to the hills, to the caves,
to the rocks—
Ere I own an usurper, I’ll couch with
the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of
your glee,
You have not seen the last of my bonnet
and me!’
Come fill up my cup, etc.
He waved
his proud hand, the trumpets were blown,
The
kettle-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on,
Till
on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee
Died
away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee.
Come fill
up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the
horses, and call up the men,
Come open your gates,
and let me gae free,
For it’s up with the bonnets of
Bonny Dundee!
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