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THE

WHISTLE.

A

BALLA D.

As the authentic Profe hiftory of the WHISTLE is curious, I fhall here give it.-In the train of Anne of Denmark, when the came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic ftature and great prowefs, and a matchlefs champion of Bacchus. He had a little Q3 ebony

ebony Whistle, which, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table; and whoever was laft able to blow it, every body else being difabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory.-The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a fingle defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warfaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority.-After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the present worthy baronet of that name; who, after three days and three nights, hard conteft, left the Scandinavian under the table, "And "blew on the Whistle his requiem fhrill."

Sir

Sir Walter, fon to Sir Robert before mention ed, afterwards loft the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a fifter of Sir Walter's.-On Friday, the 16th October 1790, at Friars-Carfe, the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the Ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lowrie of Maxwelton; Robert Riddel, Esq; of Glenriddel, lineal defcendant and reprefentative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whofe family it had continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Efq; of Craigdarroch, likewife defcended of the great Sir Robert; which laft gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field.

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,
I fing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,

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Was brought to the court of our good Scottish

king,

And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.

Old Loda*, ftill rueing the arm of Fingal, The god of the bottle fends down from his hall

"This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland

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“And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er fee 66 me more!"

Old poets have fung, and old chronicles tell, What champions ventur'd, what champions

fell;

The fon of great Loda was conqueror ftill,

And blew on the Whistle his requiem fhrill.

Till

1

* See Offian's Caric-thura.

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the

Scaur,

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in

war,

He drank his poor god-fhip as deep as the

fea,

No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he.

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has

gain'd,

Which now in his house has for ages remain'd; Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood,

The jovial contest again have renew'd.

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear

of flaw;

Craigdarroch, fo famous for wit, worth, and

law;

And

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