The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell ... Now first collected and edited, with memoir, by Robert Howie Smith |
 | I. |
JENNY'S BAWBEE—SONG.
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 | II. |
 | The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell |  |
11
JENNY'S BAWBEE—SONG.
Imet four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hingin' lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bawldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he, “Ilk cream-fac'd pawky chiel,
Thought himsel' cunnin' as the de'il,
And here they cam awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.”
Wi' hingin' lugs and faces lang;
I speer'd at neebour Bawldy Strang,
Wha's they I see?
Quo' he, “Ilk cream-fac'd pawky chiel,
Thought himsel' cunnin' as the de'il,
And here they cam awa to steal
Jenny's bawbee.”
The first, a Captain till his trade,
Wi' skull ill-lined and back weel clad,
March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And pap'd on his knee.
Quo' he, “My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my e'en;”
But de'il a beauty he had seen
But—Jenny's bawbee.
Wi' skull ill-lined and back weel clad,
March'd round the barn and by the shed,
And pap'd on his knee.
Quo' he, “My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty's dazzled baith my e'en;”
But de'il a beauty he had seen
But—Jenny's bawbee.
12
A lawyer neist, wi' blathrin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he had through a' the toon,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could droon;
Haith now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee.
Accounts he had through a' the toon,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could droon;
Haith now he thought to clout his gown
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A Norland laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsen'd naig and siller whup,
Cried, “There's my beast, lad, had the grup,
Or tie't till a tree.
What's gowd to me, I've walth o' lan',
Bestow, on ane o' worth, yer han'.”
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Wi' bawsen'd naig and siller whup,
Cried, “There's my beast, lad, had the grup,
Or tie't till a tree.
What's gowd to me, I've walth o' lan',
Bestow, on ane o' worth, yer han'.”
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A' spruce, frae ban'-boxes and tubs,
A Thing cam neist, (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fou the dubs,
Ah! wae's me!
A' clatty, squinting through a glass,
He girn'd “I' faith a bonny lass!”
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
A Thing cam neist, (but life has rubs),
Foul were the roads, and fou the dubs,
Ah! wae's me!
A' clatty, squinting through a glass,
He girn'd “I' faith a bonny lass!”
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
13
She bade the laird gang comb his wig,
The soger no to strut sae big,
The lawyer no to be a prig,
The fool cry'd, “Te hee!
I kent that I could never fail!”
She prin'd the dish-clout till his tail,
And cool'd him wi' a water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
The soger no to strut sae big,
The lawyer no to be a prig,
The fool cry'd, “Te hee!
I kent that I could never fail!”
She prin'd the dish-clout till his tail,
And cool'd him wi' a water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
| The poetical works of Sir Alexander Boswell | |