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13% SONGS.
Wi' legs snapped aff, broken noddles,
(My fegs ! 'twas a sad ravelled pirn !)
The Dutchmen endeavoured to rin for't.
But fand themsels snib'd in a girn.
They looked like gryces new-sticked.
Whan siccan mishanters they saw.
An' heartily d d the French vermin,
Wha o' them had made a cat's paw.
Yet Frenchmen (wh^*lln^ef tie toiigtie- ticked,)
Blaw aff at an unco degree ;
Again 'bout Invasion they blether.
An' swear they'll be here in a wee.
But e'en let them yammer an' ettle,
Britannia laughs at their scheme ;
She has Tars, wha are Kings o' the Ocean,
An' Volunteer bii'kies at hame. "
Whan Scotia's braid shield, o'er her mountains,
Sae terribly sounds the alarm, ^

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