A New Scotch Whim

Deel faw mine Ey'ne
If e'er Ise ken
Syke a Parcel of Loons in a Nation.
Since the Laird of the Boyn
Does Covet mere Coyn,
They repent of their geud Abdication.

For the Loons of the Kirk
Do now find their Work
Is a muckle too big for their Purses;
And the War that's begun
by the geud valiant Son,
Will be Crown'd with a Trophee of Curses.

What a Deelish stir
We make with War,
To confoond our Estates for Ambition,
With a crafty Pretence
Of conquering France,
To drill out the Coin of our Nation.

'Twas a muckle thing
To exchange our King,
Lubber-Loons ha' got weel by the Barter;
For our geud valiant Prince
Takes the faw Loon of France
As the stoot bonny Scot teuk the Tartar.