« PreviousContinue »
Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er,
Repenting her rash sin-
She rose and loot me in.
But who could cruelly deceive,
Or from such beauty part ?
The charmer of my heart :
Such loveliness to win ;
She rose and loot me in.
(First printed in the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. The versions of Ramsay and Herd have not here been printed on account of their indelicacy. I have printed Allan Cunningham's copy of the song in preference to Mr. Chambers', as having more of the old spirit in it. The present song has been claimed by Ritson as an English pro. duction.)
FRANCIS SEMPLE OF BELTREES.
Wha wadnae be in love
Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder !
And spier'd what was't they ca'd her :
Begone, you hallan-shaker;
My name is Maggie Lauder.
Maggie, quoth he, now by my bags,
I'm fidging fain to see thee,
In troth I winna steer thee;
My name is Rab the Ranter: The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.
Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order ?
Live you upon the border?
Have heard o' Rab the Ranter-
Gif you'll blaw up your chanter.
Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
About the drone he twisted;
For brawlie could she frisk it :
Weel bobbed ! quo Rab the Ranter ; 'Tis worth my while to play, indeed,
When I hae sic a dancer.
Weel hae you played your part, quo Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimsonThere's nane in Scotland plays sae weel
Since we lost Habbie Simpson.*
* A celebrated piper in Renfrewshire.
I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter ;
Spier ye for Maggie Lauder.
[“ This old song, so pregnant with Scottish naiveté and energy, is much relished by all ranks notwithstanding its broad wit and palpable allusions. Its language is a precious model of imitation : sly, sprightly, and forcibly expressive. Maggie's tongue wags out the nicknames of Rob the piper with all the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety.”—Burns.
From Herd's Collection, first Edition. 8vo. 1769. The second Edition in two volumes did not appear till 1776.]
WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'.
The bride cam’ out o' the byre,
An' O as she dighted her cheeks !
An' have neither blankets nor sheets :
Nor scarce a coverlet too;
Married and woo'd and a',
That was woo'd and married and a'.
Out spake the bride's father,
As he cam' in frae the pleugh ;
And ye's get gear enough ;
The stirk that stands i’ th' tether,
And our bra' bawsint yade, Will carry ye hame your corn, What wad
ye be at, ye jade? Out spake the bride's mither,
What deil needs a' this pride : I had nae a plack in my pouch
That night I was a bride ;
And ne'er a sark ava ;
Mae than ane or twa.
Tho' we be scant o'claes,
And we'll smore a the fieas : Simmer is coming on,
And we'll get teats o’ woo, And we'll get a lass o' our ain,
And she'll spin claiths anew. Out spake the bride's brither,
As he cam' in wi’ the kye; Poor Willie wad ne'er hae ta’en ye
Had he kent ye as weel as I; For ye’re baith proud and saucy,
And no for a poor man's wife ; Gin I canna get a better,
I’se ne'er tak ane i' my life. Out spake the bride's sister,
As she came in frae the byre; O gin I were but married,
It's a' that I desire :
But we poor fouk maun live single,
And do the best we can;
If I could get a man.
[First published by David Herd in 1769. It is an excellent and an ancient song, says Mr. Cunningham.]
As walking forth to view the plain,
Upon a morning early,
From flowers which grew so rarely ;
She shin'd, though it was foggie ;
My name is Kath'rine Ogie.
I stood a while, and did admire,
To see a nymph so stately;
In a country-maid so neatly:
Like a lilie in a bogie ;
Like this same Kath'rine Ogie.
Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen,
Who sees thee, sure must prize thee;
Yet these cannot disguise thee;