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By Thomas Given

Auld freen and helper up the hill,

By hamely words frae freedom’s quill,
O’ those wha doubly get their fill
O’ landlord laws,
True men shall thank you wae a will,
An’ help yer cause.

I watched you weel in years remote,
When bailiffs steered the tenants’ boat,
How fearlessly you cast your vote
On freedom’s side;
Amang the first you tossed your coat
’Gainst cursed pride.

You ne’er cud sympathize wae those
Wha havin’ plucked at fortune’s rose,
Wad straightway pawn their poorhouse clothes,
And ape the Tory,
While ilka breath o’ wind that blows
Can sing their story.

Can ony independent man,
Wha guides the plough wae wacket han’,
While ill laws curse his native lan’
In ilka way,
Bow down and serve the landlord clan
For lickplate pay.

Still let us pride in takin’ pert
Wae those wha thole oppression’s dert,
Let’s gae the twa-faced their dessert,
And shut their mooth.
What though oor speech be sometimes tert,
We’ll tell the truth.

The tenants’ war that round us rage,
Should a’ oor noble thochts engage,
Until we wipe from freedom’s page
The ills that cover,
The homesteads o’ the present age,
And toss them over.