SHE ROSE AND LOOT ME IN. FRANCIS SEMPLE OF BELTREES. The night her silent sable wore, And begged my fair, my lovely dame, Fast locked within my close embrace, With look and accents all divine She did my warmth reprove, The more she spoke, the more she looked, Then, then beyond expressing, I knew no greater blessing, And she all ravish'd with delight, And kindly vowed that every night Full soon, soon I returned again Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er, And aye she mourn'd the fatal hour But who could cruelly deceive, And now she thanks the happy hour 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 production.] MAGGIE LAUDER. FRANCIS SEMPLE OF BELTREES. Wha wadnae be in love Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder! A piper met her gaun to Fife, And spier'd what was't they ca'd her: Jog on your gate, you blether-skate, Maggie, quoth he, now by my bags, My name is Rab the Ranter: Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags, Then to his bags he flew wi' speed, 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, Gin ye should come to Anster Fair, 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' have neither blankets nor sheets: That was woo'd and married and a'. Out spake the bride's father, As he cam' in frae the pleugh; O haud your tongue, my dochter, And ye's get gear enough; The stirk that stands i' th' tether, What wad ye be at, ye jade? Out spake the bride's mither, An' ye hae ribbons an' buskins, What's the matter, quo' Willie, And we'll get teats o' woo, Out spake the bride's brither, For ye're baith proud and saucy, 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 : |