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"O for my ain king, quo' gude Wallace, The rightfu' king of fair Scotlan'; Between me and my sovereign dear I think I see some ill seed sawn."
'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie? I hope that those in authority will never attempt to convene a Peace Congress in Edinburgh, lest the influence of the Castle be too strong for the delegates.
My love! my native land, adieu For I must cross the main, My dear, For I must cross the main." Robert Burns, "It was a' for our Rightfu' King," II. 7-12. The last chapter we left the combatants breathing in their narrow lists.
The bit money I ha' spent, the bit care I ha' had wi' 'im, why that was paid back wi' dooble interest the first week he could sit oop i' the bed an' talk. It's a blessin' to hear the lad talk to ye. Na, na! do what ye can for Ralph. Spare naught to get his rightfu' dues; but me, there's not a penny comin' to me. I've had ma pay, an' that lang sin', lang sin', do ye mind."
And now a shopkeeper has filled his window with royal Stuart tartans, and I am instantly a Jacobite. 'The Highland clans wi' sword in hand, Frae John o' Groat's to Airly, Hae to a man declar'd to stand Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie. 'Come through the heather, around him gather, Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither, And crown your rightfu' lawfu' king, For wha'll be king but Charlie?
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