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Poem by Robert Anderson
Now, God be prais'd! we've peace at last, For Nichol he's been down, And sec a durdem, Nichol says, They've hed in Lunnon town; The king thowt war wad ruin aw, And Bonnyprat the seame, And some say teane, and some say beath, Ha'e lang been much to bleame. Now monie a weyfe will weep for joy, And monie a bairn be fain, To see the fadders they'd forgot, Come seafe and sound agean; And monie a yen will watch in vain, Wi' painfu' whopes and fears, And oft the guilty wretches bleame, That set fwok by the ears. My Cousin Tommy went to sea, And lost his left--hand Thum; He tells sec teales about the feight, They mek us aw sit dum; He sys it is reet fearfu wark, For them that's fworc'd to see't-- The bullets whuzzing past yen's lugs, And droppen down like sleet. But Peter, our peer sarvant man, Was far owre proud to work,-- They said a Captain he sud be, Alang wi't Duke o' York: Wi' powder'd heed away he marched, And gat a wooden leg; But monie a time he's rued sin seyne, For now he's fworc'd to beg. Ay, but our Sally wull be fain, Sud Lanty but cum back! Then owre the fire, i' winter neets, We wull ha'e monie a crack;-- He'll tell us aw the ins and outs, For he can write and read; But Sally's heart for sure 'll brek, If he's amang the dead. O! but I us'd to wonder much, And think what thousands fell; Now what they've aw been feightin for, The deil a yen can tell;-- But God be prais'd! we've peace at last, The news hes spread afar; O may our bairns and bairns' bairns hear Nae mair o' murderous war.
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