Awa' Whigs, Awa'
Chorus:
Awa', Whigs, awa'!
Awa', Whigs, awa'!
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae guid at a'.
Our thristles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs cam like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.
Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust -
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't,
An' write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't!
Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving.
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.
Grim Vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him waukin -
Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!
poem by Robert Burns
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Related quotes
I have written on all sorts of subjects... yet I have no enemies; except indeed all the Whigs, all the Tories, and all the Christians.
quote by David Hume
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The right honourable gentleman caught the Whigs bathing, and walked away with their clothes. He has left them in the full enjoyment of their liberal positions, and he is himself a strict conservative of their garments.
quote by Benjamin Disraeli
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Aikendrum
Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Ken ye how a Whig can fight, Aikendrum
He can fight the hero bright, with his heels and armour tight
And the wind of heavenly night, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Is not Rowley in the right, Aikendrum!
Did ye hear of Sunderland, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Did ye hear of Sunderland, Aikendrum
That man of high command, who has sworn to clear the land
He has vanished from our strand, Aikendrum, Aikendrum,
Or the eel has ta'en the sand, Aikendrum.
Donald's running 'round and 'round, Aikendrum, Aikendrum,
Donald's running 'round and 'round, Aikendrum
But the Chief cannot be found, and the Dutchmen they are drowned
And King Jaime he is crowned, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
But the dogs will get a stound, Aikendrum.
We have heard of Whigs galore, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
We have heard of Whigs galore, Aikendrum
But we've sought the country o'er, with cannon and claymore,
And still they are before, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
We may seek forevermore, Aikendrum!
Ken ye how to gain a Whig, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
Ken ye how to gain a Whig, Aikendrum
Look Jolly, blythe and big, take his ain blest side and prig,
And the poor, worm-eaten Whig, Aikendrum, Aikendrum
For opposition's sake you will win!
poem by James Hogg
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We certainly cannot have any further political connection with the Whigs of the South; they have rendered such connection impossible. An impassable gulf separates us, and must here-after separate us.
quote by Benjamin F. Wade
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Ballad
A WONDERFUL age
Is now on the stage:
I'll sing you a song, if I can,
How modern Whigs,
Dance forty-one jigs,
But God bless our gracious Queen Anne.
The kirk with applause
Is established by laws
As the orthodox church of the nation.
The bishops do own
It's as good as their own.
And this, Sir, is call'd moderation.
It's no riddle now
To let you see how
A church by oppression may speed;
Nor is't banter or jest,
That the kirk faith is best
On the other side of the Tweed.
For no soil can suit
With every fruit,
Even so, Sir, it is with religion;
The best church by far
Is what grows where you are,
Were it Mahomet's ass or his pigeon.
Another strange story
That vexes the Tory,
But sure there's no mystery in it,
That a pension and place
Give communicants grace,
Who design to turn tail the next minute.
For if it be not strange,
That religion should change,
As often as climates and fashions;
Then sure there's no harm,
That one should conform.
To serve their own private occasions.
Another new dance,
Which of late they advance,
Is to cry up the birth of Pretender,
And those that dare own
The queen heir to the crown,
Are traitors, not fit to defend her.
The subject's most loyal
That hates the blood royal,
And they for employments have merit,
Who swear queen and steeple
Were made by the people,
And neither have right to inherit.
The monarchy's fixt,
By making on't mixt,
And by non-resistance o'erthrown;
And preaching obedience
Destroys our allegiance,
And thus the Whigs prop up the throne.
That viceroy is best,
That would take off the test,
And made a sham speech to attempt it;
But being true blue,
When he found 'twould not do,
Swore, damn him, if ever he meant it.
'Tis no news that Tom Double
The nation should bubble,
Nor is't any wonder or riddle,
That a parliament rump
Should play hop, step, and jump,
And dance any jig to his fiddle.
But now, sir, they tell,
How Sacheverell,
By bringing old doctrines in fashion,
Hath, like a damn'd rogue,
Brought religion in vogue,
And so open'd the eyes of the nation.
Then let's pray without spleen,
May God bless the queen,
And her fellow-monarchs the people;
May they prosper and thrive,
Whilst I am alive,
And so may the church with the steeple.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Bonny Dundee
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!
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Peace And Dunkirk
Spite of Dutch friends and English foes,
Poor Britain shall have peace at last:
Holland got towns, and we got blows;
But Dunkirk's ours, we'll hold it fast.
We have got it in a string,
And the Whigs may all go swing,
For among good friends I love to be plain;
All their false deluded hopes
Will, or ought to end in ropes;
'But the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
Sunderland's run out of his wits,
And Dismal double Dismal looks;
Wharton can only swear by fits,
And strutting Hal is off the hooks;
Old Godolphin, full of spleen,
Made false moves, and lost his Queen:
Harry look'd fierce, and shook his ragged mane:
But a Prince of high renown
Swore he'd rather lose a crown,
'Than the Queen should enjoy her own again.'
Our merchant-ships may cut the line,
And not be snapt by privateers.
And commoners who love good wine
Will drink it now as well as peers:
Landed men shall have their rent,
Yet our stocks rise cent, per cent.
The Dutch from hence shall no more millions drain:
We'll bring on us no more debts,
Nor with bankrupts fill gazettes;
'And the Queen shall enjoy her own again.'
The towns we took ne'er did us good:
What signified the French to beat?
We spent our money and our blood,
To make the Dutchmen proud and great:
But the Lord of Oxford swears,
Dunkirk never shall be theirs.
The Dutch-hearted Whigs may rail and complain;
But true Englishmen may fill
A good health to General Hill:
'For the Queen now enjoys her own again.'
poem by Jonathan Swift
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The Battle Of Sherramuir
"O cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?"
"I saw the battle, sair and teugh
And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O clans frae woods in tartan duds
Wha glaum'd at icingdoms three, man.
"The red-coat lads wi' black cockauds,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd,
And monie a bouk did fa', man!
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles;
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords clashed,
And thro they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.
"But had ye seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they daur'd our Whigs,
And Covenant trueblues, man!
In lines extended lang and large,
When baig'nets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath and frac the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath.
They fled like frightened dows, man!"
"O, how Deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man!
I saw mysel, they did pursue
The horseman back to Forth, man:
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi a' their might
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And monie a huntit poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man!"
My sister Kate came up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man:
She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man!
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors' bluid to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o brose; they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
"They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in his en'mies' hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right,
But monie bade the world guid-night;
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories feil, and Whigs to Hell
Flew off in frightened bands, man!"
poem by Robert Burns
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Battle Of Sherramuir, The
"O cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?"
"I saw the battle, sair and teugh
And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O clans frae woods in tartan duds
Wha glaum'd at icingdoms three, man.
"The red-coat lads wi' black cockauds,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and bluid outgush'd,
And monie a bouk did fa', man!
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles;
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords clashed,
And thro they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.
"But had ye seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man;
When in the teeth they daur'd our Whigs,
And Covenant trueblues, man!
In lines extended lang and large,
When baig'nets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath and frac the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath.
They fled like frightened dows, man!"
"O, how Deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man!
I saw mysel, they did pursue
The horseman back to Forth, man:
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi a' their might
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And monie a huntit poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man!"
My sister Kate came up the gate
Wi' crowdie unto me, man:
She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man!
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors' bluid to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o brose; they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
"They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in his en'mies' hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right,
But monie bade the world guid-night;
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories feil, and Whigs to Hell
Flew off in frightened bands, man!"
poem by Robert Burns
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To Lord Thurlow
'I lay my branch of laurel down.
Then thus to form Apollo's crown.
Let every other bring his own.'~Lord Thurlow's lines to Mr. Rogers
'I lay my branch of laurel down.'
Thou 'lay thy branch of laurel down!'
Why, what thou'st stole is not enow;
And, were it lawfully thine own,
Does Rogers want it most, or thou?
Keep to thyself thy wither'd bough,
Or send it back to Doctor Donne:
Were justice done to both, I trow,
He'd have but little, and thou--none.
'Then thus to form Apollo's crown.'
A crown! why, twist it how you will,
Thy chaplet must be foolscap still.
When next you visit Delphi's town,
Inquire amongst your fellow-lodgers,
They'll tell you Phoebus gave his crown,
Some years before your birth, to Rogers.
'Let every other bring his own.'
When coals to Newcastle are carried,
And owls sent to Athens, as wonders,
From his spouse when the R egent's unmarried,
Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders;
When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel,
When Castlereagh's wife has an heir,
Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel,
And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
Bwomp
We're Piling It Too High
Talk Not Saying Anything
What We Leave Behind
What We Can't Afford To Keep
There's No Sympathetic Posturing
There's No More True Humanity
The Old Ways Aren't Working Anymore
Let's Separate The Users
From The Whores
Creepy Crawl
Twist The 4-5 Cap
To Get Wrapped
Tight Slap The Wax
On The Wheels To Feel Alright
Find The Flow Freak
The Funk Like Your In Heat
Wrap The Leaf
Strike The Blunt
now Your In Deep
We've Got To Get Together
Got To Get With The Game plan
To Defeat The Dealer
That Dealt This Hand
I Don't Understand
Why The Kids Are Killing Kids
When The Only One's That Benefit
Are The Big Whigs
Mankind Unkind
Always A Fine Line
We've All Got To Die
And This Time It's My Time
Hindsight Blind fight
I Hate It When I'm Right
He Destroys The World
While We Sleep At Night
Twist The 4-5 Cap
And Understand That
If It Was Up To Me
I'd Free Charles Manson
Throw It All Away
Let's Separate The Users
song performed by by Mushroomhead from Superbuick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For A' That
Tho' women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift, and turn, an' a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist-
A consequence I draw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, an' a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
But there is ane aboon the lave,
Has wit, and sense, an' a' that;
A bonie lass, I like her best,
And wha a crime dare ca' that?
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
In rapture sweet this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love an' a' that,
But for how lang the flie may stang,
Let inclination law that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft.
They've taen me in, an' a' that;
But clear your decks, and here's-"The Sex!"
I like the jads for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
And twice as meikle's a' that;
The bonie lass that I loe best
She'll be my ain for a' that.
poem by Robert Burns
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Donald MacGillavry
Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly
Here's tae the king and Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry
Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly
Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry
Donald's run o'er the hill but his tether, man
As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man
When he comes back, there's some will look merrily
Here's tae King James and Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry
Pack on your back, an elwand sae cleverly
Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry
Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery
Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggery
Better it were for Whigs and Whiggery
Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry
Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry
Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly
Here's tae King James and Donald Macgillavry
Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness
Whigging, and prigging, and a' newfangleness
They maun be gane; he winna be baukit, man
He maun hae justice, or faith he'll tak it, man
Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry
Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly
Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry
Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery
Donald was blindid wi' blads o' property
Arles ran high, but makings war naething, man
Lord, how Donald is flyting and fretting, man
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry
Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry
Skelp them an' scaud them that prov'd sae unbritherly
Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry
poem by James Hogg
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The Tarbolton Lasses
If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;
She kens her father is a laird,
And she forsooth's a leddy.
There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Wha canna win her in a night,
Has little art in courtin'.
Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,
And tak a look o' Mysie;
She's dour and din, a deil within,
But aiblins she may please ye.
If she be shy, her sister try,
Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny;
If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense-
She kens hersel she's bonie.
As ye gae up by yon hillside,
Speir in for bonie Bessy;
She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address ye.
There's few sae bonie, nane sae guid,
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o' this-
It's Bessy's ain opinion!
poem by Robert Burns
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Tarbolton Lasses, The
If ye gae up to yon hill-tap,
Ye'll there see bonie Peggy;
She kens her father is a laird,
And she forsooth's a leddy.
There Sophy tight, a lassie bright,
Besides a handsome fortune:
Wha canna win her in a night,
Has little art in courtin'.
Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale,
And tak a look o' Mysie;
She's dour and din, a deil within,
But aiblins she may please ye.
If she be shy, her sister try,
Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny;
If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense-
She kens hersel she's bonie.
As ye gae up by yon hillside,
Speir in for bonie Bessy;
She'll gie ye a beck, and bid ye light,
And handsomely address ye.
There's few sae bonie, nane sae guid,
In a' King George' dominion;
If ye should doubt the truth o' this-
It's Bessy's ain opinion!
poem by Robert Burns
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Liberty Ball
Come all ye true friends of the nation,
Attend to humanity’s call;
Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball —
And roll on the liberty ball —
Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball.
The Liberty hosts are advancing —
For freedom to all they declare;
The down-trodden millions are sighing—
Come, break up our gloom of despair.
Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.
Y Democrats, coma to the rescue,
And aid on the liberty cause,
And millions will rise up and bless you,
With heart-cheering songs of applause,
With heart-cheering songs, &c
Ye Whigs, forsake slavery’s minions,
And boldly step into our ranks;
‘We care not for party opinions,
But invite all he friends of the banks,—
And invite all the friends of the banks, &c.
And when we have formed the blest union
We’ll firmly march on, one and alt—
We’ll sing when we meet in communion,
And roll on the liberty bill,
And roll on the liberty ball, &c.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Battle Of Killie-Crankie
Clavers and his Highlandmen
Came down upo' the raw, man,
Who being stout, gave mony a clout;
The lads began to claw then.
With sword and terge into their hand,
Wi which they were nae slaw, man,
Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,
The lads began to claw then.
O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stark,
She flang amang them a', man;
The butter-box got many knocks,
Their riggings paid for a' then.
They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,
Which to their grief they saw, man:
Wi clinkum, clankum o'er their crowns,
The lads began to fa' then.
Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
And flang amang them a', man;
The English blades got broken beads,
Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then.
The durk and door made their last hour,
And prov'd their final fa', man;
They thought the devil had been there,
That play'd them sic a paw then.
The Solemn League and Covenant
Came whigging up the hills, man;
Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bills then.
In Willie's name, they thought nag ane
Durst stop their course at a', man,
But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,
Cry'd, 'Furich--Whigs awa',' man.
Sir Evan Du, and his men true,
Came linking up the brink, man;
The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink then.
The true Maclean and his fierce men
Came in amang them a', man;
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.
All fled and ran awa' then.
Oh' on a ri, Oh' on a ri,
Why should she lose King Shames, man?
Oh' rig in di, Oh' rig in di,
She shall break a' her banes then;
With furichinish, an' stay a while,
And speak a word or twa, man,
She's gi' a straike, out o'er the neck,
Before ye win awa' then.
Oh fy for shame, ye're three for ane,
Hur-nane-sell's won the day, man;
King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
Because they ran awa' then.
Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,
And made as lang a stay, man,
They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing,
And Willie'd ran awa' then.
poem by Andrew Lang
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For this—accepted Breath
195
For this—accepted Breath—
Through it—compete with Death—
The fellow cannot touch this Crown—
By it—my title take—
Ah, what a royal sake
To my necessity—stooped down!
No Wilderness—can be
Where this attendeth me—
No Desert Noon—
No fear of frost to come
Haunt the perennial bloom—
But Certain June!
Get Gabriel—to tell—the royal syllable—
Get Saints—with new—unsteady tongue—
To say what trance below
Most like their glory show—
Fittest the Crown!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Orange And Green Will Carry The Day
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore
Faction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
'Orange and Green will carry the day.'
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Pitted together in many a fray
Lions in fight!
And linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay.
Orange and Green!
Our King and our Queen!
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed
William and James are turned to clay
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed,
Red was the crop, and bitter the pay!
Freedom fled us!
Knaves misled us!
Under the feet of the foemen we lay
Riches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day!
Landlords fooled us;
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey;
But, in their spite,
The Irish UNITE,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve;
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the Oligarchs carve;
Foreigners fatten on our decay!
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway;
Party and creed
For once have agreed
Orange and Green will carry the day!
Boyne's old water,
Red with slaughter!
Now is as pure as an infant at play;
So, in our souls,
Its history rolls,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
English deceit can rule us no more;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
'Orange and Green must carry the day!'
Orange! Orange!
Bless the Orange!
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
No surrender!
No Pretender!
Never to falter and never betray
With an Amen,
We swear it again,
ORANGE AND GREEN SHALL CARRY THE DAY.
poem by Thomas Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Orange And Green Will Carry The Day
AIR--_The Protestant Boys._
I.
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore--
Faction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
'Orange and Green will carry the day.'
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Pitted together in many a fray--
Lions in fight!
And linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay.
Orange and Green!
Our King and our Queen!
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
II.
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed--
William and James are turned to clay--
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed,
Red was the crop, and bitter the pay!
Freedom fled us!
Knaves misled us!
Under the feet of the foemen we lay--
Riches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day!
Landlords fooled us;
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey;
But, in their spite,
The Irish UNITE,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
III.
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve;
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the Oligarchs carve;
Foreigners fatten on our decay!
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway;
Party and creed
For once have agreed--
Orange and Green will carry the day!
Boyne's old water,
Red with slaughter!
Now is as pure as an infant at play;
So, in our souls,
Its history rolls,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
IV.
English deceit can rule us no more;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray--
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
'Orange and Green must carry the day!'
Orange! Orange!
Bless the Orange!
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
No surrender!
No Pretender!
Never to falter and never betray--
With an Amen,
We swear it again,
ORANGE AND GREEN SHALL CARRY THE DAY.
poem by Thomas Osborne Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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