The Modern Scottish Minstrel - LightNovelsOnl.com
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And braw Tibby Fowler, the heiress, Will perk at the top o' the ha', Encircled wi' suitors, whase care is To catch up the gloves when they fa'.
Repeat a' her jokes as they 're cleckit, And haver and glower in her face, When tocherless Mays are negleckit-- A crying and scandalous case.
And Mysie, whase clavering aunty Wad match her wi' Jamie, the laird; And learns the young fouk to be vaunty, But neither to spin nor to caird.
And Andrew, whase granny is yearning To see him a clerical blade, Was sent to the college for learning, And cam' back a coof, as he gaed.
And there will be auld Widow Martin, That ca's hersel' thretty and twa!
And thrawn-gabbit Madge, wha for certain Was jilted by Hab o' the Shaw.
And Elspy, the sewster, sae genty-- A pattern of havens and sense-- Will straik on her mittens sae dainty, And crack wi' Mess John in the spence.
And Angus, the seer o' ferlies, That sits on the stane at his door, And tells about bogles, and mair lies Than tongue ever utter'd before.
And there will be Bauldy, the boaster, Sae ready wi' hands and wi' tongue; Proud Paty and silly Sam Foster, Wha quarrel wi' auld and wi' young.
And Hugh, the town-writer, I 'm thinking, That trades in his lawyerly skill, Will egg on the fighting and drinking, To bring after grist to his mill.
And Maggie--na, na! we 'll be civil, And let the wee bridie abee; A vilipend tongue it is evil, And ne'er was encouraged by me.
Then fy, let us a' to the wedding, For they will be lilting there, Frae mony a far-distant ha'ding, The fun and the feasting to share.
For they will get sheep's-head and haggis, And browst o' the barley-mow; E'en he that comes latest and lagis May feast upon dainties enow.
Veal florentines, in the o'en baken, Weel plenish'd wi' raisins and fat; Beef, mutton, and chuckies, a' taken Het reekin' frae spit and frae pat.
And gla.s.ses (I trow 'tis nae said ill) To drink the young couple gude luck, Weel fill'd wi' a braw beechen ladle, Frae punch-bowl as big as Dumbuck.
And then will come dancing and daffing, And reelin' and crossin' o' han's, Till even auld Lucky is laughing, As back by the aumry she stan's.
Sic bobbing, and flinging, and whirling, While fiddlers are making their din; And pipers are droning and skirling, As loud as the roar o' the linn.
Then fy, let us a' to the wedding, For they will be lilting there; For Jock 's to be married to Maggie, The la.s.s wi' the gowden hair.
[30] This song is a new version of "The Blythesome Bridal," beginning, "Fy, let us a' to the bridal," which first appeared in Watson's Collection, in 1706, and of which the authors.h.i.+p was generally a.s.signed to Francis Semple of Beltrees, in Renfrews.h.i.+re, who lived in the middle of the seventeenth century, though more recently it has been attributed to Sir William Scott of Thirlestane, in Selkirks.h.i.+re, who flourished in the beginning of last century. The words of the original song are coa.r.s.e, but humorous.
HOOLY AND FAIRLY.[31]
Oh, neighbours! what had I to do for to marry?
My wife she drinks posset and wine o' Canary; And ca's me a n.i.g.g.ardly, thrawn-gabbit cairly.
O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly!
She sups, wi' her kimmers, on dainties enow, Aye bowing, and smirking, and wiping her mou'; While I sit aside, and am helpit but sparely.
O gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad feast hooly and fairly!
To fairs, and to bridals, and preachings an' a', She gangs sae light-headed, and buskit sae braw, In ribbons and mantuas, that gar me gae barely.
O gin my wife wad spend hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad spend hooly and fairly!
I' the kirk sic commotion last Sabbath she made, Wi' babs o' red roses, and breast-knots o'erlaid; The dominie stickit the psalm very nearly.
O gin my wife wad dress hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad dress hooly and fairly!
She 's warring and flyting frae mornin' till e'en, And if ye gainsay her, her een glower sae keen; Then tongue, neive, and cudgel, she 'll lay on me sairly.
O gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad strike hooly and fairly!
When tired wi' her cantrips, she lies in her bed-- The wark a' negleckit, the chalmer unred-- While a' our gude neighbours are stirring sae early.
O gin my wife wad wark timely and fairly!
Timely and fairly, timely and fairly; O gin my wife wad wark timely and fairly!
A word o' gude counsel or grace she 'll hear none; She bandies the elders, and mocks at Mess John; While back in his teeth his own text she flings sairly.
O gin my wife wad speak hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; O gin my wife wad speak hooly and fairly!
I wish I were single, I wish I were freed; I wish I were doited, I wish I were dead; Or she in the mouls, to dement me nae mairly.
What does it 'vail to cry, Hooly and fairly!
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly; Wasting my health to cry, Hooly and fairly.
[31] The style of this song and the chorus are borrowed from "The Drucken Wife o' Gallowa'," a song which first appeared in the "Charmer,"
a collection of songs, published at Edinburgh in 1751, but the authors.h.i.+p of which is unknown.
THE WEARY PUND O' TOW.
A young gudewife is in my house, And thrifty means to be, But aye she 's runnin' to the town Some ferlie there to see.
The weary pund, the weary pund, the weary pund o' tow, I soothly think, ere it be spun, I 'll wear a lyart pow.
And when she sets her to her wheel, To draw her threads wi' care, In comes the chapman wi' his gear, And she can spin nae mair.
The weary pund, &c.
And then like ony merry May, At fairs maun still be seen, At kirkyard preachings near the tent, At dances on the green.
The weary pund, &c.
Her dainty ear a fiddle charms, A bagpipe 's her delight, But for the crooning o' her wheel She disna care a mite.
The weary pund, &c.
"You spake, my Kate, of snaw-white webs Made o' your hink.u.m twine, But, ah! I fear our bonnie burn Will ne'er lave web o' thine.
The weary pund, &c.
"Nay, smile again, my winsome mate, Sic jeering means nae ill; Should I gae sarkless to my grave, I'll loe and bless thee still."
The weary pund, &c.
