Ah, lad, if ye would be so kind-
To lend a mon yer ear...
There’s tales of things beyond yer ken
Methinks ye’d like to hear.
O leprechauns an’ fairy folk-
O witches in the dark-
An’ Tam O’Shanter an’ his mare-
Their brush wi’ Cuttysark!
Ah, yes, and more..I mought wou’ tell
For but a dram o’ ale-
I’d even lay me blade aside,
An’ spin a traveler’s tale.
English? they’re a craven lot!
An’ Spaniard’s? They’re mere dogs
Wi’ no more taste fer fire an’ steel...
Than yonder bloody Frogs!
But gi’ a Scot a cause, an’ Faith!
He’ll fight until his death-
An’ slay an escort into hell...
An’ laugh wi’ his last breath!
The pipes? aye, lad...they’ll do the trick
To set the heart aflame...
And cause a Scot to lift ‘is blade-
In Wallace’ sainted name...
I’ve marched to them a thousand times
And died beneath their skirl-
When flames an’ banners, smoke and death
Abou’ me head did whirl..
What’s that ye say? How old am I?
Ah, lad, I ha’ no age...
For I were old so long before
There were a printed page.
I fought the Tartars on the steppes
The Turks, the Arabs too-
An’ shed me blood to purchase life
For lubbers such as you...
Ah, one more glass, a bit more gab-
Ere long me ship does sail-
To bear me off to one more war-
So goes the Traveler’s Tale.
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