Epitaph by a Highlander in Glenlivet on the Duke of Cumberland

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An Epitaph1

O! Vile Rebellious VillianVillain Death

To StopeStop our great Deliverer’s breath

And leave us SickSic a Sighing Spreath2

Of Whigs to groan

And mourn for our undeemusundeemous Skeith3

Since Willies's gone.

Ohon! he’s dead wha4 Can we trust

We did not think our Duke was Dust

Nay ev’neven Mess John5 himself wha wist6

Or else7 itsit's ode,8

Did place him equallequal or at least

ay9 next to God10

[I] wish our Saints may not DespaireDespair

For mony a Saul11 will miss him Sair12

We manmaun hae13 a RecourceRecourse to prayer

and trust in God

[S]ince he Can ffeightFeight for us Nae Mair

here nor abroad

Vow 1150 (1150)

Vow14 Sirs! how well he lik’dliked our Nation

(Witness his Acts of Generation)

With a our Women of ilk15 Station

Our ChurchesChurch's Warden

For which She gae him wi great discration

her gracious pardon

They flock’tflocked about him like beehives

And humbly Meant they’d Risk yrtheir lives

Or Lend their Stipends or their Wives

To Serve his Highness

Our Clergy thus devoutly Strives

to do’mdo him a kindness

But he O. CondesensionCondescension Rare!

Accept the boon they best Cou’dCould SpairSpare

And if Young loyallloyal Miss come there

And look but Trig16

He taught her with a Courtly AireAir

a London JiggJig17

Now thinkethink ye was not Death most fauty18

A Rogue too impudent &and haughty

to midle19 thus with Dad’s ain Dauty 20

His warlick21 Willy

Far dearer to him than dull Feachy 22

Or all but Polly23

O! Cruel Death pox on your Snout

you are a RebellRebel without doubt

To lend our Hero SickaSicca Clout24

Who fought our Battles

And put the RebellsRebels to the Rout

What loss is that till’s?25
Vow! 1151 (1151)
Vow!26 what he did to please PappaPapa

And us his true blue Creatures a

CouragiouslyCourageously to brakebreak the Law

Even Risk’d’sRisked Sweet Saul27

And Murdered RebellsRebels great &and Sma

baith young and Auld

But Since our dear Deliverer’s gone

The Whigs have Cause to Sigh &and Moan

Wi mony a douff28 &and dreary Groan

tis guid their pairts29

The foulest Sack CloathCloth to put on

as black’s their hearts

Yet Some who did na like our Hero

Compair’dCompared him to that Monster Nero

And said that None in a our Æra

was SickSic30 a Butcher

To Murder Men &and take theretheir Gear31 a',

without a Voucher

To brakebreak divine &and CivelCivil Law

And when he fought nae Quarters gae

But Slaughtered Arm’dArmed &and Armless a’

wi devilish fury

And having StriptStripped them left yethe Craws32

the Dead to Bury

He burntburned &and rob’trobbed, undeemusundeemous Skeith!33

And Starved the SaiklessSakeless34 unto Death

[h]e levied them o baith meat &and Claith35

the bonybonny Duck 36

For which he Sits now Scarce o’ breath

In a heat Nook

Fan 1152 (1152)
Fan37 his aspiring Saul wan gae38

he try’dtried to speel39 up Heavens Strate brae40

But O! what follows maks us wae41

it wou’dwould no Mount

But heels o’erover head to Hell they say

fell wi a dunt42

But a this Time he’s in a Trance

And dreamtdreamed he was to fight wi France

Cried Hauley Make the Scots Advance

G—[od] damn them! Risk them all at once

I hate the Race

But mind dear Buff43 &and Make our Stance

I’ the safest place

Old Pluto ferli’dferlied44 at yethe dinndin &and Swore

That SickSic45 a Bully46 Came neernear till’s47 door

Said ground your Arms &and vowst48 no more

Your stuff wi ken49

You got your Pack Sheets paid before50

Or I mistain51

Young Billy Shortly temper’d’stempered Cracks

Cried Quarters Quarters M—[arshal] Saxe

Or let’s but safely Show our Backs

And by Hanover

The Dutch Shall a be burntburned like Flacks52

ere I come over

Says Pluto Sir IllI’ll undeceive You

you are Hell’s PrisnerPrisoner &and to grivegrieve53 you

All Hanover shall not reliverelieve you

Nor a the Gowd54

Your Father StollStole Shall hence retriveretrieve you

an Immense Sowd55
With 1153 (1153)
With Devils you must fight &and bruly56

And Still like French theyllthey’ll win yethe Tulzie57

YoullYou’ll find Whigs Plenty too ay will ye

But think na odd

No ChappellsChapels here to burn and Spuillie58

NoreNor Men o’ God

To take your Post you now Retire

To the torrid zone of my Empire

where you’ll find far more Scorching Fire

than that of Titan

Or What you Raised at my Desire

In a’ North Britain

N: B:
Both the Original of the above
Epitaph, &and that of the preceed-
ingpreceding Narrative of the Skirmish
at Keith, as delivered to me
in the Hand-writing of CapnCaptain
Robert Stewart, are to be
found among my Papers.
At Parting the said CapnCaptain Stew-
art gave me his Promise, that
he would use his Endeavours
to make up an exact &and well-
vouched Account of all the
Cruelties, Pillagings, Plunder-
ings, &c.etc. that had been commit-
ted in Glenlivet, Strathdown,
&c.etc. and to transmit it carefully
to me.
Robert Forbes, A:M:

In