A Quaker’s Address
A Quaker’s Address to Prince Charles, shewing what was the Cause and Ground of his Misfortunes.
Now Charles, If thou want’st more sorrow,
Thou may return if ’twere to-morrow,
I know, the Pulpit and the Press
Were the great means of thy distress,
And thou hadst got no wit to guide it,
No Principle thou had provided.
Hadst thou, like Oliver appear’d
In devout mood, thou might been heard:
But a Prince without a principle!
What thou couldst be, I cannot tell.
The Protestants look’d badly on thee,
So many wicked hang upon thee,
And of thy forbearers, they plainly tell,
Of Popery thou bearst a smell.
Thou trustedst nought to ordination,
But thought to force a crown and nation.
I tell thee, Kings reign not by men,
’Tis a higher pow’r, thou’lt find it plain.
The Pope, the Pagan, and the Turk,
’Tis all by fire and sword they work:
We Quakers are of greater merit.
We conquer none but by the Spirit;
But thou, and each thy like’s a cheat,
That pretend to rule the turns of fate,
And will fight against the great decree,
As of winds and waves would ruler be,——
The Pope pretends to curse and bless,
And yet cannot create a Louse,
Nor make a dead beast live again,
For all the might he does preten’:
Yet claims a power in heav’n and earth,
Of judgment here there is a dearth,
But O! what madness fills their head?
To pray to saints thousand years dead!
If dead men had such power to sell,
Many of them wou’d been living still.
And if those dead men they could hear us,
They might sometimes send news to cheer us.
By Yea and Nay, the Popes are thieves,
And he’s as stupid that believes
These roguish priests, who pardons sell,
Or yet pray back a soul from hell.
He’s surely of the devil’s kind,
Who thus deludes the vulgar blind;
And who adheres to such a college,
Will be destroy’d for lake of knowledge,
With Beads and Waffers, the Devil’s batter,
Your musty Mass, and Holy Water,
Wherewith ye blind the souls of men,
For to encrease your worldly gain,
Done with pretence of holiness:
O hypocrites, why live ye thus?
You thump, you mump, with face awray,
And at one time ye rob and pray,
Pretend so much to chastitie,
None of your priests can married be,
Yet run like rams, and lead lewd lives,
Ye’re but a pack of venereal thieves:
You practise cuckoldom and whoredom,
That innocents have no freedom,
Dreading the power of curse and bless,
You thus put modesty in distress,
Pretending Miracles and Charms,
To keep from evil spirits harms,
Such as Clover-leaves, and branch of Yew,
Will keep the devil from man or cow,
And that Holy Water has such effect,
As make him run and break his neck;
Ay, to the vulgar too you’ll tell,
Of sending letters to heaven or hell,
Bring half burnt souls from Purgatory,
For gold you’ll harle them out in hurry,
And those who cannot money raise,
You’ll do it for butter, beef or cheese;
But they may there stay, eternalie,
Whose friends will not pay you a fee:
I think a stronger delusion,
Was never in any ages known,
The Turk, the Pagan and the Jew,
More mercy have to show than you,
Your ceremonies so ye cook,
The devil gets none but poor fo’k,
Who cannot pay the priest his fee;
Accurs’d be such belief for me.——
And now, dear Charles, how dost thou think,
Such doctrine would in Britain stink,
Into a Presbyterian’s nose,
Or any who good plain sense knows?
Dissenters and we they Quakers call,
Protest, they’re not of Israel,
Who pretend a power to damn or save,
Or bear a rule beyond the grave.
All is given us from above,
And souls are saved by mere love;
But the sp’rit of men, which some hold money,
I term it but the devil’s honey,
Wherewith you blind the ignorant,
And cozen them who hate repent:
But as thou profess no principle,
Thou might have turn’d a What ye will:
But those who no profession own,
Are of kin to the beasts alone:
They surely have but little wits,
Who esteem no God above their guts.
What wa’st thou sought? What wa’st thou got?
Surely ’twas nothing but thy lot.
Though Popes pretend to rule the earth,
They cause nought but a sp’ritual dearth,
As they can neither rule earth nor sea,
Witness what has behappen’d thee:
It surely makes your Pope a knave,
To pretend a pow’r beyond the grave:
Had his apostolic pow’r been true,
Thou wou’dst been King of Britain now.
Wert thou a Protestant in heart,
I’d wish thee very well in part;
But the last wish thoul’t get from me,
Is, God keep our land of Pop’ry free!
May the throne continue in Protestant race,
And ne’er a Papist fill his place.
Thus saith to thee an honest Quaker,
Thou ne’er shalt here be a partaker:
For all Rome’s plots and magic spell,
’Tis seldom now they prosper well,
Her days of witchcraft are near run,
Few Ave’s or Te Deum’s sung,
A Mass that’s mumbled o’er in haste,
Spoke in the language of the beast,
Which but by few is understood,
Poor chaff instead of sp’ritual food:
But ignorance, the Papists say,
Is unto heaven the nearest way:
But, O ye wretches, this I doubt,
While you the sp’ritual light keep out,
And teach so freely, and off hand,
To break the very Lord’s command,
And on no other things lay hold;
But trust the priest, and give him gold.
All sins by them are pardoned,
So by the nose the poor are led;
Not blinded nations or ideots,
But the rich, learned reprobates,
Who will not from sinning hold,
As long’s they have one bit of gold.
Wo will be to such priests, I say:
For hell’s prepar’d for such as they.
Nathan Nomore.
The Impeachments
⁂ The Impeachments against Lord George Murray, and John Murray Secretary, accused of treachery by the Public, are here omitted, thought in some respects to be groundless, at least of Lord George: For there is never a Battle lost, but the Commander gets the Blame, and when one is won, the Commander gets all the Praise, as if the Soldiers had done nothing: And it is further observed, after the loss of a Battle, it is the cry of the Public and the run-away Soldiers, We are sold, We are sold.
The following Copy, mentioned by Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino, on the day of their execution, is here inserted verbatim.——The Public are left to judge whether it is spurious or not, as the Author does not pretend to judge in the affair: Only it was judged spurious by Duke William himself, and several officers, who knew the order of war.
Copy of the REBELS’ ORDERS before the Battle of Culloden, (said to be) found in the Pocket of one of the Prisoners.
Parole, Roy Jaques.
“IT is his Royal Highness’ positive orders, that every person attach himself to some Corps of the Army, and remain with the Corps night and day, until the Battle and Pursuit be finally over: And to give no Quarters to the Elector’s Troops, on any account whatsoever.——This regards the Foot, as well as the Horse.——The Order of Battle is to be given to every General Officer and Commander of a Regiment or Squadron.
“IT is required and expected of each Individual in the Army, as well Officer as Soldier, that he keep the Post he shall be allotted: And if any man turn his back to run away, the next behind such man is to shoot him.
“NO body, upon pain of death, is to strip the slain, or plunder, until the battle is over.——The Highlanders to be in Kilts, and no body to throw away their Guns.”
(Signed)
George Murray, Lt. Gen.
Miss Flora’s Lament
Miss FLORA’S Lament. A SONG.
Tune. Woes my heart that we should sunder.
When that I from my darling pass’d,
My love increas’d like young Leander,
With the parting kiss, the tears fell fast,
Crying, woes my heart that we should sunder.
O’er mountains, glens, and raging seas,
When wind and waves did roar like thunder,
Them I’d encounter again with ease,
That we were ne’er at all to sunder.
O yet I did to Malton go,
And left my darling Swain to wander;
Where was one friend, were fifty foe;
And I myself was then brought under.
By a rude band of bloody hue,
Because I lov’d a young Pretender;
If it were undone, I would it do,
O’er hills and dales, with him I’d wander.
From ship to ship, was toss’d about,
And to the Nore did me surrender;
Crouds of rude hands, I stood them out,
And lov’d none like my young Pretender.[42]
To great London, I came at last,
And still avow’d my passion tender;
Thinking for death I would be cast,
For serving of my young Pretender.
But thanks be to the Georgian race,
And the English laws, I judg’d untender;
For they thought nought of all my case,
Although I lov’d a young Pretender.
They charg’d me to the Highlands go,
For womens’ wit, and strength was slender;
As I ne’er in arms appear’d as foe,
In defence of a young Pretender.
O were my Swain at Malton gate,
Or yet at Sky I’d be his lover;
In spite of all the laws of late,
I would call him sweet darling Rover.
The Author’s Address
The AUTHOR’S Address to all in general.
Now gentle readers, I have let you ken,
My very thoughts, from heart and pen,
’Tis needless now for to conten,
Or yet controule,
For there’s not a word o’t I can men’,
So ye must thole.
For on both sides, some were not good,
I saw them murd’ring in cold blood,
Not th’ gentlemen, but wild and rude,
The baser sort,
Who to the wounded had no mood,
But murd’ring sport.
Ev’n both at Preston and Falkirk,
That fatal night ere it grew mirk,
Piercing the wounded with their durk,
Caus’d many cry,
Such pity’s shown from Savage and Turk,
As peace to die.
A woe be to such a hot zeal,
To smite the wounded on the fiel’,
It’s just they get such groats in kail,
Who do the same,
It only teaches cruelty’s real,
To them again.
I’ve seen the men call’d Highland Rogues,
With Lowland men, make shange a brogs,
Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs
Out at the door,
Take cocks, hens, sheep and hogs,
And pay nought for.
I see’d a Highlander, ’twas right drole,
With a string of puddings, hung on a pole,
Whip’d o’er his shoulder, skipp’d like a fole,
Caus’d Maggy bann,
Lap o’er the midden and midden-hole,
And aff he ran.
When check’d for this, they’d often tell ye,
Indeed her nainsel’s a tume belly.
You’ll no gi’et wanting bought, nor sell me,
Hersel will haet,
Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy’s Willie,
I’ll hae a meat.
I see’d the soldiers at Linton-brig,
Because the man was not a Whig,
Of meat and drink, leave not a skig
Within his door,
They burnt his very hat and wig,
And thumpt him sore.
And thro’ the Highlands they were so rude,
As leave them neither clothes nor food,
Then burnt their houses to conclude,
’Twas tit for tat,
How can her nainsel’ ere be good,
To think on that.
And after all, O shame and grief,
To use some worse than murd’ring thief,
Their very gentlemen and chief,
Unhumanly,
Like Popish tortures, I belief,
Such cruelty.
Ev’n what was act on open stage,
At Carlisle in the hottest rage,
When mercy was clapt in a cage,
And pity dead,
Such cru’lty approv’d by every age,
I shook my head.
So many to curse, so few to pray,
And some aloud huzza did cry,
They curs’d the Rebel Scots that day,
As they’d been nout
Brought up for slaughter, as that way
Too many rowt.
Therefore, Alas! dear countrymen,
O never do the like again,
To thirst for vengeance, never ben
Your guns nor pa’
But with th’ English, e’en borrow and len,
Let anger fa’.
Their boasts and bullyings, not worth a louse,
As our king’s the best about the house,
’Tis ay good to be sober and douce,
To live in peace,
For many I see, for being o’er crouse,
Gets broken face.
JOHN HIGHLANDMAN’S
REMARKS ON GLASGOW.
[The following is what may be termed a ‘Chap-book Version’ of John Highlandman’s Remarks on Glasgow. It is taken from a chap-book published anonymously in Glasgow in 1823. In no material respect does it differ from the other copies still to be found. M‘Vean was the first to attribute the verses to Graham. The assumption has generally been that in point of time this is one Graham’s earliest productions, after his History of the Rebellion, and it is certainly the most popular of his metrical pieces. It furnishes an interesting description of Glasgow about the middle of last century.]
JOHN HIGHLANDMAN’S REMARKS ON GLASGOW.
Her nainsel into Glasgow went,
An errand there to see’t,
And she never saw a bonnier town
Standing on her feet.
For a’ the houses that be tere
Was theekit wi’ blue stane,
And a stane ladder to gang up,
No fa’ to break her banes.
I gang upon a stany road,
A street they do him ca’,
And when me seek the chapman’s house,
His name be on the wa’.
I gang to buy a snish tamback,
And standing at the corse,
And tere I see a dead man,
Was riding on his horse.
And O! he be a poor man,
And no hae muny claes,
Te brogues be worn aff his feet,
And me see a’ his taes.[43]
Te horse had up his muckle fit
For to gie me a shap,
And gaping wi’ his great mouth
To grip me by the tap.
He had a staff into his hand,
To fight me an’ he coud,
But hersel be rin awa frae him,
His horse be unco proud.
But I be rin around about,
And stand about the guard,[44]
Where I see the deil chap the hours,
Tan me grew unco feared.[45]
Ohon! Ohon! her nainsel said,
And whare will me go rin?
For yonder be the black man
That bums the fouk for sin.
I’ll no pe stay nae langer tere,
But fast me rin awa,
And see the man thrawin te rapes
Aside te Broomielaw.[46]
An’ O she pe a lang tedder,
I spier’t what they’ll do wi’t,
He said to hang the Highlandmen
For stealing o’ their meat.
Hout, hersel’s an honest shentleman,
I never yet did steal,
But when I meet a muckle purse,
I like it unco weel.
Tan fare ye weel ye saucy fellow,
I fain your skin wad pay;
I cam to your toun the morn but,
An’ I’ll gang out yesterday.
Fan I gang to my quarter-house,
The door was unco braw,
For here they had a cow’s husband,
Was pricked on the wa’.[47]
O tere me got a shapin ale,
An’ ten me got a supper,
A filthy choud o’ chappit meat
Boiled amang a butter.
It was a filthy dirt o’ beef,
His banes was like te horn,
She was a calf wanting the skin,
Before that she was born.
I gang awa into the kirk
To hear a Lawland preach,
And mony a bonny sang they sing,
Tere books they did them teach.
And tere I saw a bonny mattam,
Wi’ feathers on her waim,
I wonder an’ she be gaun to flee,
Or what be in her myn.[48]
Another mattams follow her,
Wha’s arse was round like cogs!
And clitter clatter cries her feet—
She had on iron brogues.[49]
And tere I saw another mattam
Into a tarry seck,
And twa mans pe carry her,
Wi’ rapes about hims neck.
She pe sae fou o’ vanity,
As no gang on the grun,
But twa poor mans pe carry her
In a barrow covert aboon.[50]
Some had a fish-tail to their mouth,[51]
And some pe had a ponnet,
But my Janet and Donald’s wife
Wad rather hae a bannock.
THE TURNIMSPIKE.
[The Turnimspike has had more attention paid to it by literary antiquaries than any of Graham’s other metrical productions, excepting, of course, his History of the Rebellion. It has always been regarded as being from Graham’s pen, and Sir Walter Scott said it alone was sufficient to entitle him to immortality. Burns admired it on account of its local humour. The verses appeared in Herd’s Collection of 1769; and they have been here taken from the edition of 1776.]
THE TURNIMSPIKE.
Her sel pe Highland shentleman,
Pe auld as Pothwell prig, man;
And mony alterations seen
Amang the Lawland whig, man.
Fal lal, &c.
First when her to the Lowlands came,
Nain sell was driving cows, man:
There was nae laws about hims narse,
About the breeks or trouse, man.
Fal lal, &c.
Nain sell did wear the philapeg,
The plaid prik’t on her shouder;
The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,
The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder.
Fal lal, &c.
But for whereas these cursed preeks,
Wherewith mans narse be lockit,
O hon, that ere she saw the day!
For a’ her houghs pe prokit.
Fal lal, &c.
Every thing in the Highlands now,
Pe turn’t to alteration;
The sodger dwal at our door cheek,
And that’s te great vexation.
Fal lal, &c.
Scotland be turn’t a Ningland now,
And laws pring on the cadger:
Nain sell wad durk him for hur deeds,
But oh she fears the sodger.
Fal lal, &c.
Another law came after that,
Me never saw the like, man;
They mak a lang road on the crund,
And ca’ him turnimspike, man.
Fal lal, &c.
And wow she pe a ponny road,
Like Louden corn rigs, man;
Whare twa carts may gang on her,
And no break others legs, man.
Fal lal, &c.
They sharge a penny for ilka hors,
In troth they’l be nae sheaper,
For nought but gaen upo’ the crund,
And they gie me a paper.
Fal lal, &c.
They tak the hors then pe the head,
And there they mak them stand, man.
I tell’d them that I seen the day
They had na sic command, man,
Fal lal, &c.
Nae doubts nain-sell maun draw his purs,
And pay them what him’s like, man:
I’ll see a shudgement on his store,
That filthy turnimspike, man.
Fal lal, &c.
But I’ll awa to the Highland hills,
Where nere a ane sall turn her;
And no come near your turnimspike,
Unless it pe to purn her.
Fal lal, &c.
TUGAL M‘TAGGER.
[This piece sometimes appears in old chap-books under the heading of Dugald M‘Taggart, no doubt the proper name of the hero, but it is one that scarcely fits the rhyme. The reading here used is sustained by usage, and has the further advantage of being—shall we say?—more euphonious. M‘Vean attributes the song to Graham. It was probably composed about the year 1772, on the occasion of the passing of the first Sequestration Act, 12 Geo. III., c. 72. The following is reprinted from an old broadside version long popular in Glasgow. The air is given as—‘The Hills of Glendoo.’]
TUGAL M‘TAGGER.
Would you’ll know me, my name it is Tugal M‘Tagger,
She’ll brought hersel’ down frae the braes o’ Lochaber,
To learn her nainsel’ to be praw haberdabber,
Or fine linen-draber, the tane or the twa.
She’ll being a stranger, she’ll look very shy-like:
She’s no weel acquaint wi’ your laigh kintra dialect;
But hoogh! never heed, she’s got plenty o’ Gaelic—
She comes frae ta house at the fit o’ Glendoo.
[But her kilt she’ll exchange for ta praw tandy trowser,
An’ she’ll learn to ta lady to scrap an’ to pow, sir,
An’ say to ta shentlemans—How did you’ll do, sir?
An’ ten she’ll forget her poor friens at Glendoo.
An’ when she’ll pe spoket the laigh kintra jabber,
She’ll gi’e hersel’ out for ta Laird o’ Lochaber,
Shust come for amusements to turn haberdabber,
For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow.][52]
She’ll got a big shop, an’ she’ll turn’d a big dealer;
She was caution hersel’, for they’ll no sought no bailer,
But Tugal M‘Tagger hersel’ mak’s a failure—
They’ll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she’ll not know.
They’ll called a great meeting, she’ll look very quate now,
She’ll fain win awa’, but they’ll tell her to wait now;
They’ll spoket a lang time, ’pout a great estate now:
She’ll thocht that they’ll thocht her the laird o’ Glendoo.
They’ll wrote a long while about a trust deeder,
She’ll no write a word, for hersel’ couldna read her,
They’ll sought compongzition, hoogh, hoogh, never heed her—
There’s no sic a word ’mang the hills o’ Glendoo.
But had she her durk, hersel’ would devour them,
They’ll put her in jail when she’ll stood there before them;
But faith she’ll got out on a hashimanorum,[53]
And now she’s as free as the win’s on Glendoo.
HAD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD.
[Stenhouse, in his Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland, suggests that Had Awa Frae Me, Donald, was probably written by the same hand as Turnimspike. In view of the strong likeness which exists between the two pieces, and the fact that no author has been found for the lines on the following pages, we have no hesitation in admitting them among works probably written by Graham. The view here given is reprinted from—‘The Black Bird: a choice collection of the most celebrated songs. Few of which are to be found in any collection. By William Hunter, Philo-Architectonicæ. Edinburgh: Printed by J. Bruce and Company: And sold by John Moir, Book-Binder in Bell’s Wynd. MDCCLXIV.’ It is also in Herd’s Collection of 1776.]
HAD AWA FRAE ME, DONALD.
O will you hae the tartan plaid,
Or will you hae ta ring, mattam,
Or will you hae ta kiss o’ me,
And dats ta pretty ting, mattam.
Had awa’, bide awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
I’ll neither kiss, nor hae a ring,
Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald.
O see you not her ponny progues,
Her fecket plaid, plew, creen, mattam,
Her twa short hose, and her twa spiogs,
And a shoulter pelt apoon, mattam.
Had awa’, bide awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
Nae shoulder belts, nae trink abouts,
Nae tartan hose for me, Donald.
Hur can peshaw a petter hough
Tan him wha wears the crown, mattam;
Her sell hae pistol and claymore,
Tae flie ti’ lallant loon, mattam.
Had awa’, had awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
For a your houghs and warlike arms,
You’re not a match for me, Donald.
Hur sell hae a short coat pi pote,
No trail my feets at rin, mattam,
A cutty sark of guide harn sheet,
My mitter he pe spin, mattam.
Had awa’, had awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald;
Gae hame and hap your naked houghs,
And fash nae mair wi’ me, Donald.
You’s ne’er pe pidden work a turn
At ony kind o’ spin, mattam,
But shug your lenno in a scull,
And tidel highland sing, mattam.
Had awa’, had awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
Your jogging sculls, and highland sang,
Will sound but harsh wi’ me, Donald.
In ta morning, when him rise,
Ye’s get fresh whey for tea, mattam,
Sweet milk an ream, as much you please,
Far sheaper tan pohea, mattam.
Had awa’, bide awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
I wadna quit my morning’s tea;
Your whey will ne’er agree, Donald.
Haper Gallick yes pe learn,
An tats ta ponny speak, mattam,
Ye’s get a cheese, and putter kirn,
Come wi’ me kin ye like, mattam.
Had awa’, had awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
Your Gallick, and your Highland chear,
Will ne’er gae doun wi’ me, Donald.
Fait yes pe ket a silder protch,
Pe pigger as the moon, mattam,
Ye’s ride in curroch stead o’ coach,
And wow put ye’ll pe fine, mattam.
Had awa’, had awa’,
Had awa’ frae me, Donald,
For all your Highland rarities,
You’re not a match for me, Donald.
What’s tis ta way tat ye’ll pe kind
To a protty man like me, mattam,
Sae lang claymore pe po my side,
I’ll nefer marry thee, mattam.
O come awa’, run awa’,
O come awa’ wi’ me, Donald,
I wadna quit my Highland man,
Frae Lallands set me free, Donald.
End of Vol. I.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Paisley Magazine, December, 1828.
[2] Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and Scenery of Scotland. 1811.
[3] Chambers’ Illustrious Scotsmen, vol. ii., p. 488.
[4] Strang’s Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd edit., p. 77.
[5] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 184.
[6] Stenhouse’s Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland (edited by Dr. David Laing), p. 112*.
[7] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 80.
[8] Fraser’s Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 192.
[9] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 172.
[10] Stenhouse’s Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland, p. 112*.
[11] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd Ed., p. 77.
[12] History of Poetry in Scotland, by Alex. Campbell. Edin. 1798, p. 307.
[13] Hist. Glas., 2nd ed., 1830, appendix.
[14] Strang’s Glasgow and its Clubs, p. 82, note.
[15] Jacobite Songs and Ballads of Scotland, p. 297.
[16] Bell’s Commentaries on the Law of Scotland (edited by John M‘Laren, advocate), vol. ii. pp. 281–2.
[17] A Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads and Songs, by W. H. Logan, p. 442.
[18] Paisley Magazine, December 1828.
[19] Paisley Magazine.
[20] Ante, p. 29.
[21] Reliques of Robert Burns, p. 434.
[22] The reference is to Burns. Cromek’s quotation is from Grahame’s Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. iv.
[23] Works of Robert Burns. Kilmarnock edition, vol. ii. p. 286.
[24] Works of Robert Burns. Edinburgh, 1877–79, vol. i. p. 16.
[25] There were several chap-books with this title in circulation. We have before us one bearing the same name, published in Edinburgh in 1764; and another, The Accomplished Courtier, also issued in Edinburgh in the same year, but they are both totally different from the Stirling publication.
[26] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 151.
[27] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 151.
[28] Mr. John Ashton, in his Chap-Books of the Eighteenth Century, a work dealing exclusively with the chap literature of England, traces what appears to be an original edition of Simple Simon, ‘printed and sold in Aldermary Church Yard, London.’ The publishers there, he informs his readers in his introduction, were William and Cluer Dicey, originally of Northampton, who started a branch of their business in London subsequent to 1720.
[29] The Glasgow Athenæum, August 10, 1850 (No. 2), p. 18.
[30] The Glasgow Athenæum, p. 18.
[31] In the catalogue of the second portion of the library of the late Dr. David Laing, sold two or three years ago, there was a collection of chap-books (lot 795) in which this work is mentioned. The lot was “passed,” probably because it had disappeared, and consequently we have been unable to come across it. The fact is to be regretted, as there is every reason to believe the copy would be unique.
[32] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 82, note.
[33] Paisley Magazine.
[34] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 77.
[35] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, pp. 215–16.
[36] Chap-Books of the Eighteenth Century, by John Ashton, p. vii. intro.
[37] Works of Allan Ramsay, Fullarton’s ed. vol. i. p. 17.
[38] Dr. Carlyle’s Autobiography, p. 89.
[39] Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character, 21st ed., p. viii.
[40] Ibid. 21st ed., p. 249.
[41] Pounds Sterling.
[42] The preceding five stanzas are all of this song given in the Aberdeen (1850) edition. In the other editions it is given as in the one of 1774, and, of course, as it is reproduced here.
[43] The equestrian statue of King William III., presented by Governor Macrae to Glasgow, his native city, and erected opposite the Tontine, at the Cross, in 1735. It was cast in Holland. The classical style of dress, including primitive sandals, in which the King is represented, gave rise to the idea in ‘John Highlandman’s’ mind that His Majesty was a ‘poor man.’
[44] The old guardhouse, in the Trongate, at the foot of the Candleriggs. Like many of the houses in Glasgow at the time, it had a colonnaded front, which projected into the street, and made it a feature of the city. Here the citizens took duty by turns, for these were the days when policemen were unknown.
[45] It is on record that a clockmaker in the Trongate had at that time in his window a clock, on which a figure of the ‘Deil’ was shown as ‘chapping’ the hours.
[46] There were several roperies in the vicinity of the Broomielaw.
[47] The reference is to the Black Bull Inn—‘the cow’s husband’—situated at the West Port, which was then in the Trongate, at the head of Stockwell Street. It was one of the most famous hostleries in the west country.
[48] Rather an obscure reference, but it may probably find an explanation in the following statement in Fairholt’s Costume in England, p. 567:—‘Feather muffs are mentioned in Anstey’s New Bath Guide, and became fashionable in George III.’s reign.’ Another alternative is that it may refer to what were then known as Spanish fans.
[49] Probably pattens, then in common use.
[50] A long drawn out description of a sedan chair. Carriages had not yet come into vogue. The first private carriage seen in Glasgow belonged to Allan Dreghorn, a timber merchant and carpenter and joiner, who built one for himself in 1752.
[51] Perhaps a reference to the ‘ties’ of the lady’s bonnet.
[52] The two stanzas within brackets are not in several chap-book copies. The many verbal differences indicate that attempts have been made to touch up the song, but the absence of any very early copy of it, makes it impossible to obtain an absolutely pure text. These alterations, however, in no way affect the narrative.
[53] A wonderful rendering of ‘cessio bonorum.’