Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
 | I. |
JANET MACBEAN. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
JANET MACBEAN.
Janet Macbean a public keeps,
An' a merry auld wife is she;
An' she sells her ale wi' a jaunty air,
That would please your heart to see.
Her drink's o' the best—she's hearty aye,
An' her house is cosh an' clean,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
An' a merry auld wife is she;
An' she sells her ale wi' a jaunty air,
That would please your heart to see.
Her drink's o' the best—she's hearty aye,
An' her house is cosh an' clean,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
She has aye a curtsy for the laird
When he comes to drink his can,
An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife,
An' a joke for the farmer's man.
She toddles but, and she toddles ben,
Like ony wee bit queen—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
When he comes to drink his can,
An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife,
An' a joke for the farmer's man.
She toddles but, and she toddles ben,
Like ony wee bit queen—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
27
The beggar wives gang a' to her,
An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese;—
Her bread in bannocks, an' cheese in whangs,
Wi' a blithe gude will she gi'es.
Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair
When she's laid aneath the green,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese;—
Her bread in bannocks, an' cheese in whangs,
Wi' a blithe gude will she gi'es.
Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair
When she's laid aneath the green,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
Among ale-house wives she rules the roast;
For upo' the Sabbath days
She puts on her weel-hain'd tartan plaid
An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes;
An' she sits, nae less! in the minister's seat:
Ilk psalm she lilts, I ween,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
For upo' the Sabbath days
She puts on her weel-hain'd tartan plaid
An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes;
An' she sits, nae less! in the minister's seat:
Ilk psalm she lilts, I ween,—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |