My hand is in my husewife-cap, If it's no barr'd this hunder year, They made a paction 'tween them twa, Should rise and bar the door. Now whether is this a rich man's house, But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak, And first they ate the white puddings, O muckle thought our gudewife to hersel, The young ane to the auld ane said, And gang and shave the gudeman's beard, But there's nae water in the house, And what shall I do than? What ails ye at the pudding broo, O, up then started our gudeman, Will ye kiss my wife afore my face, And scaud me wi' pudding bree! An' up an' started our gudewife, [For this excellent old song we are indebted to Herd, who published it in his collection, 1769. Burns also preserved some verses of the same song, and sent them to Johnson's Musical Museum, 1792, from which the present copy is much amended.] O MITHER DEAR, I 'GIN TO FEAR. O mither dear, I 'gin to fear, I winna keep; for in my sleep I start and dream of Johnny. For we twa ne'er can sinder. Better to marry than miscarry; For shame and skaith's the clink o't, Sae while 'tis time I'll shun the crime, Had Eppy's apron bidden down, The kirk had ne'er a kend it; But when the word's gane through the town, Now Tam maun face the minister, And that's the way that they maun gae— Now haud yere tongue, my daughter dear, Get Johnny's hand in haly band, Ye'll do your part discreetly, And prove a wife, will gar his life And thine rin smooth' and sweetly. [From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724.] WHAT'S THAT TO YOU? My Jeany and I have toil'd Her stockings were of kersey green, O sic a leg was never seen, Her hair was black as ane could wish, The rose and lily baith combine, May cause mae men to rue, Conceal thy beauties if thou can, And I with faithful heart shall swear King Solomon had wives enow, And mony a concubine; [From the Tea Table Miscellany, 1724. It is an old song with additions by one of Ramsay's ingenious young gentlemen.'] AND SAE YE'VE TREATED ME. And sae ye've treated me, And sae ye've treated me; And all the night I weep; And sae ye've treated me, A woman's curse ye'll dree- Three hours before ye die! [Eight lines of this singular song I find in Mr. Sharpe's Ballad Book. The others are by Allan Cunningham.] ETTRICK BANKS. On Ettrick banks, in a summer's night, I met my lassie braw and tight, Came wading, barefoot, a' her lane : |