To the Lords of Convention

To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claverhouse spoke,
Ere the King's crown go down there are crowns to be broke;
So each Cavalier who loves honour and me,
Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

CHORUS:  Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
         Come saddle my horses and call out my men,
         Unhook the West Port and let us go free,
         For it's up with the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
They bells they ring backward, the drums they are beat,
But the Provost (douce man) said, "Just e'en let it be,
For the town is weel rid o' that deil o' Dundee."

There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth,
If there's Lords in the South, there are Chiefs in the North,
There are brave Duinewassals, three thousand times three,
Will cry "Hey for the bonnets of bonnie Dundee."

Then away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
Ere I own a usurper I'll couch wi' the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst o' your glee,
Ye have not seen the last o' my bonnets and me.

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Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin