In Robert Bruce’s Days,
The Flemings wore the Bays.
Their Courage it surpassed monny:
For they the Dagger drew,
And serv’d their King ay true,
Thus gain’d Cumbernald so bonny:
Sure these were happy Days,
When Tyrants they did raze,
Free’d the Bruce from Hardships monny;
May ev’ry Parish be,
From Tyrant Gentry free,
So prays Cumbernald so bonny.
Then we again once more,
Will enjoy Peace and Store,
As in Days of good Earl Johnie,
When Oppressors are all gone,
We’ll bless the British Throne,
And sing Cumbernald so bonny:
The white Kine now so rare,
The Deer, and timid Hare,
The Partridge, Muirfowl and the Coney,
Again they will abound,
To bless the happy Ground
Of fam’d Cumbernald so bonny.
The lofty Elms will grow,
Which are all destroyed now,
The Woods furnish Bees with Honey;
When Irish Priestcraft’s gone,
And the Tyrant &lblank;
From ’bout Cumbernald so bonny:
May the Fleming’s ancient Race,
Shine forth with ev’ry Grace,
They never oppressed onny;
But Kindness ay they had,
To ev’ry Lass and Lad,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
The Flemings, Sons of Mars,
Were glorious in the Wars,
But they never impressed onny;
Each Man then drew his Sword,
And followed his Lord,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
With Heart-felt Sorrow cry,
And fill your Bumpers high,
But without ever Toasting onny:
For the Days they are away,
In which you all look’d gay,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
May old Nimrod end his Days,
(Who hath been persecute always)
In Peace, with a Bottle and Cronny:
Then Claudero he will sing,
God bless our lawful King,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
An independent Man
Need not fear do what they can,
Regardless of Tyrants onny:
But poor mean sp’rited Fools
Deservedly are Tools,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
The Lasses blyth and gay,
Once brisk as Morn of May,
With a well-set Cockernonny:
Young Men now they have none,
Being all impress’d and gone
About Cumbernald so bonny.
Then mourn, you Fathers, mourn,
Pray for your Sons Return,
Whom you loved best of onny,
Blame neither King nor Laws,
But blame another Cause,
About Cumbernald so bonny.
(James Wilson Claudero)
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