Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME (BEING NEW WORDS TO AULD SPRING), by WALTER SCOTT


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CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME (BEING NEW WORDS TO AULD SPRING), by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: The news has flown frae mouth to mouth
Last Line: Pay down your subscriptions for four volumes more.
Subject(s): George Iv, King Of England (1762-1830); Scotland


THE news has flown frae mouth to mouth,
The North for ance has bang'd the South;
The deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth,
Carle, now the King's come!

CHORUS.

Carle, now the King's come!
Carle, now the King's come!
Thou shalt dance, and I will sing,
Carle, now the King's come!

Auld England held him lang and fast;
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast;
But Scotland's turn is come at last --
Carle, now the King's come!

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey,
Thought never to have seen the day;
He's been a weary time away --
But, Carle, now the King's come!

She's skirling frae the Castle-hill;
The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill
Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Up, bairns!' she cries, 'baith grit and sma',
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw!
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come from Newbattle's ancient spires,
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires,
And match the mettle of your sires --
Carle, now the King's come!

'You're welcome hame, my Montagu!
Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch;
I'm missing some that I may rue --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, Haddington, the kind and gay,
You've graced my causeway mony a day;
I'll weep the cause if you should stay --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, premier Duke, and carry doun
Frae yonder craig his ancient croun;
It's had a lang sleep and a soun' --
But, Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, Athole, from the hill and wood,
Bring down your clansmen like a clud;
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath;
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death;
Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath;
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids;
Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades;
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids;
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true,
Girt with the sword that Minden knew;
We have o'er few such lairds as you --
Carle, now the King's come!

'King Arthur's grown a common crier,
He's heard in Fife and far Cantire, --
"Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!"
Carle, now the King's come!

'Saint Abb roars out, "I see him pass,
Between Tantallon and the Bass!"
Calton, get out your keeking-glass --
Carle, now the King's come!

The Carline stopp'd; and, sure I am,
For very glee had ta'en a dwam,
But Oman help'd her to a dram. --
Cogie, now the King's come!

Cogie, now the King's come!
Cogie, now the King's come!
I'se be fou' and ye's be toom,
Cogie, now the King's come!

PART SECOND.

A HAWICK gill of mountain dew,
Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow,
It minded her of Waterloo --
Carle, now the King's come!

Again I heard her summons swell,
For, sic a dirdum and a yell,
It drown'd Saint Giles's jowing bell --
Carle, now the King's come!

'My trusty Provost, tried and tight,
Stand forward for the Good Town's right,
There's waur than you been made a knight --
Carle, now the King's come!

'My reverend Clergy, look ye say
The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e,
And warstle for a sunny day --
Carle, now the King's come!

'My Doctors, look that you agree,
Cure a' the town without a fee;
My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn,
That dints on wood or clanks on airn,
That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Come forward with the Blanket Blue,
Your sires were loyal men and true,
As Scotland's foemen oft might rue --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Scots down a loup, and rin, and rave,
We're steady folks and something grave,
We'll keep the causeway firm and brave --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Sir Thomas, thunder from your rock,
Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock,
And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke --
Carle, now the King's come!

"Melville, bring out your bands of blue,
A' Louden lads, baith stout and true,
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn too --
Carle, now the King's come!

'And you, who on yon bluidy braes
Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise,
Rank out -- rank out -- my gallant Greys --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Cock o' the North, my Huntly braw,
Where are you with the Forty-twa?
Ah! wae's my heart that ye're awa' --
Carle, now the King's come!

'But yonder come my canty Celts,
With durk and pistols at their belts,
Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell!
Macdonnell's ta'en the field himsell,
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Bend up your bow each Archer spark,
For you're to guard him light and dark;
Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark --
Carle, now the King's come!

Young Errol, take the sword of state,
The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate;
Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate --
Carle, now the King's come!

'King cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set,
But dinna be upon the fret --
Ye'se hae the handsel of him yet,
Carle, now the King's come!

'My daughters, come with een sae blue,
Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew;
He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you --
Carle, now the King's come!

'What shall we do for the propine --
We used to offer something fine,
But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine --
Carle, now the King's come!

'Deil care -- for that I'se never start,
We'll welcome him with Highland heart;
Whate'er we have he's get a part --
Carle, now the King's come!

'I'll show him mason-work this day --
Nane of your bricks of Babel clay,
But towers shall stand till Time's away --
Carle, now the King's come!

'I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair,
And gallant lads and lasses fair,
And what wad kind heart wish for mair?
Carle, now the King's come!

'Step out, Sir John, of projects rife,
Come win the thanks of an auld wife,
And bring him health and length of life --
Carle, now the King's come!'

ONE VOLUME MORE.

ASSIST me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine,
To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne,
Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore
As enables each age to print one volume more.
One volume more, my friends, one volume more,
We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more.

And first, Allan Ramsay was eager to glean
From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen;
Two light little volumes (intended for four)
Still leave us the task to print one volume more.
One volume more, &c.

His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin
How much he left out, or how much he put in;
The truth of the reading he thought was a bore,
So this accurate age calls for one volume more.
One volume more, &c.

Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes,
And weigh'd every letter in critical scales,
But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor,
And castrated Banny in one volume more.
One volume more, my friends, one volume more;
We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume more.

John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd
I can't call that worthy so candid as learn'd;
He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the claymore,
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more.
One volume more, my friends, one volume more,
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more.

As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor,
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar,
His diet too acid, his temper too sour,
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more.
But one volume, my friends, one volume more,
We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volume more.
The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,
With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal,
And honest Greysteel that was true to the core,
Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume more.
One volume more, &c.

Since by these single champions what wonders were done,
What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One?
Law, Gospel, and Commerce we count in our corps,
And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more.
One volume more, &c.

Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye,
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury;
Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er
The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more.
Three volumes more, &c.

They'll produce your King Jamie, the sapient and Sext,
And the Bob of Dumblane and her Bishops come next;
One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your store,
Resolving next year to print four volumes more.
Four volumes more, my friends, four volumes more;
Pay down your subscriptions for four volumes more.





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