Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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GLASGOW FAIR. |
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
GLASGOW FAIR.
The rising sun, through mist and dew,
Was blinkin' owre the mountains blue;
The hares were whiddin, the heath-cock crew,
And fragrant and fresh was the air, man.
The lav'rocks scarce had tuned their throats,
When through the meadows, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses were springin' owre burns and gots,
A' braingin' awa' to the fair, man.
Was blinkin' owre the mountains blue;
The hares were whiddin, the heath-cock crew,
And fragrant and fresh was the air, man.
The lav'rocks scarce had tuned their throats,
When through the meadows, wi' kilted coats,
The lasses were springin' owre burns and gots,
A' braingin' awa' to the fair, man.
The lads soon follow'd, attired fou spree,
Wi' watch-chains bobbin' down to mid-thie;
To meet wi' their joes, and glowre at the shows,
Was the feck o' their business there, man.
Jockeys are scourin' alang the roads,
Prick-the-loops rinnin' wi' tables and brods;
Dicers and thimblers, and jugglers and tumblers,
Are a' startin' trade in the fair, man.
Wi' watch-chains bobbin' down to mid-thie;
To meet wi' their joes, and glowre at the shows,
Was the feck o' their business there, man.
Jockeys are scourin' alang the roads,
Prick-the-loops rinnin' wi' tables and brods;
Dicers and thimblers, and jugglers and tumblers,
Are a' startin' trade in the fair, man.
366
The hale toun's shakin' wi' prancin' steeds;
Wabsters are rinnin' wi' wallets and reeds;
Souters and sawyers, and doctors and lawyers,
Straucht aff to the shows a' repair, man:
The Calton keelies are fingerin' fabs,
Cloak'd in their knavery by barefitted drabs:
Folk in high fashion had need o' some caution,
To come aff hale-scart frae the fair, man.
Wabsters are rinnin' wi' wallets and reeds;
Souters and sawyers, and doctors and lawyers,
Straucht aff to the shows a' repair, man:
The Calton keelies are fingerin' fabs,
Cloak'd in their knavery by barefitted drabs:
Folk in high fashion had need o' some caution,
To come aff hale-scart frae the fair, man.
Hark! the medley o' music around;
Melody's smother'd and harmony's drown'd;
Trombones gruntin', and bass-fiddles scruntin',
Now torture our lugs to despair, man:
The bagpipes yell, and the organ bums,
The cymbals clatter 'mang trumpets and drums;
French-horns yowlin', and wild beasts growlin',
Help up wi' the mirth o' the fair, man.
Melody's smother'd and harmony's drown'd;
Trombones gruntin', and bass-fiddles scruntin',
Now torture our lugs to despair, man:
The bagpipes yell, and the organ bums,
The cymbals clatter 'mang trumpets and drums;
French-horns yowlin', and wild beasts growlin',
Help up wi' the mirth o' the fair, man.
Business is brisk wi' the merry-go-roun's;
Waterloo swings are gaun up like balloons;
Rowley's rungs' reelin' folk's shins aften peelin',
Which min's them o' scaith to beware, man:
Merryman's showin' his wit and his pranks,
Heads-owre-heels wheelin', wi' quick-mettled shanks;
Fine ladies dancin', wi' spangles a' glancin',
Bewitchin' a' een in the fair, man.
Waterloo swings are gaun up like balloons;
Rowley's rungs' reelin' folk's shins aften peelin',
Which min's them o' scaith to beware, man:
Merryman's showin' his wit and his pranks,
Heads-owre-heels wheelin', wi' quick-mettled shanks;
Fine ladies dancin', wi' spangles a' glancin',
Bewitchin' a' een in the fair, man.
The day grows het, and the crowd grows thrang,
Justlin' and bustlin' the merry day lang:
The Charlies, gleg watchin', are skiebalds quick catchin',
When ony ane's fab's riffled bare, man:
Fuddlers, forjeskit wi' stour and wi' drouth,
Flock to the tap-rooms to moisten their mouth,
Deemin' a bicker o' sterling maut liquor
The essence and saul o' the fair, man.
Justlin' and bustlin' the merry day lang:
The Charlies, gleg watchin', are skiebalds quick catchin',
When ony ane's fab's riffled bare, man:
Fuddlers, forjeskit wi' stour and wi' drouth,
Flock to the tap-rooms to moisten their mouth,
Deemin' a bicker o' sterling maut liquor
The essence and saul o' the fair, man.
Gloamin' draws on, and dangers draw near,
Land'ard folk, guided by prudence and fear;
Spank up the hills, to escape a' the ills
That the brawlers behind them may share, man:
The carry's now mirk, and there's naething but wars
'Mang pedlars and pickpockets, tinklers and tars;
And the Office and Jail are fill'd in fine style,
To bring up the hale rear o' the fair, man.
Land'ard folk, guided by prudence and fear;
Spank up the hills, to escape a' the ills
That the brawlers behind them may share, man:
The carry's now mirk, and there's naething but wars
'Mang pedlars and pickpockets, tinklers and tars;
And the Office and Jail are fill'd in fine style,
To bring up the hale rear o' the fair, man.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |