The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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| 3. | CLASS THIRD—HUMOROUS SONGS. |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
CLASS THIRD—HUMOROUS SONGS.
Doctor Monroe.
“Dear Doctor, be clever, an' fling aff your beaver,
Come, bleed me an' blister me, dinna be slow;
I'm sick, I'm exhausted, my prospects are blasted,
An' a' driven heels o'er head, Doctor Monroe!”
“Be patient, dear fellow, you foster your fever;
Pray, what's the misfortune that troubles you so?”
“O Doctor, I'm ruin'd, I'm ruin'd for ever—
My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Monroe!
Come, bleed me an' blister me, dinna be slow;
I'm sick, I'm exhausted, my prospects are blasted,
An' a' driven heels o'er head, Doctor Monroe!”
“Be patient, dear fellow, you foster your fever;
Pray, what's the misfortune that troubles you so?”
“O Doctor, I'm ruin'd, I'm ruin'd for ever—
My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Monroe!
“I meant to have married, an' tasted the pleasures,
The sweets, the enjoyments from wedlock that flow;
But she's ta'en anither, an' broken my measures,
An' fairly dumfounder'd me, Doctor Monroe!
I am fool'd, I am dover'd as dead as a herring—
Good sir, you're a man of compassion, I know;
Come, bleed me to death, then, unflinching, unerring,
Or grant me some poison, dear Doctor Monroe!”
The sweets, the enjoyments from wedlock that flow;
But she's ta'en anither, an' broken my measures,
An' fairly dumfounder'd me, Doctor Monroe!
I am fool'd, I am dover'd as dead as a herring—
Good sir, you're a man of compassion, I know;
Come, bleed me to death, then, unflinching, unerring,
Or grant me some poison, dear Doctor Monroe!”
The Doctor he flang aff his big-coat an' beaver,
He took out his lance, an' he sharpen'd it so;
No judge ever look'd more decided or graver—
“I've oft done the same, sir,” says Doctor Monroe,
“For gamblers, rogues, jockeys, and desperate lovers,
But I always make charge of a hundred, or so.”
The patient look'd pale, and cried out in shrill quavers,
“The devil! do you say so, sir, Doctor Monroe?”
He took out his lance, an' he sharpen'd it so;
No judge ever look'd more decided or graver—
“I've oft done the same, sir,” says Doctor Monroe,
“For gamblers, rogues, jockeys, and desperate lovers,
But I always make charge of a hundred, or so.”
The patient look'd pale, and cried out in shrill quavers,
“The devil! do you say so, sir, Doctor Monroe?”
Oh yes, sir, I'm sorry there's nothing more common;
I like it—it pays—but, ere that length I go,
A man that goes mad for the love of a woman
I sometimes can cure with a lecture, or so.”
“Why, thank you, sir; there spoke the man and the friend too;
Death is the last reckoner with friend or with foe:
The lecture then, first, if you please, I'll attend to;
The other, of course, you know, Doctor Monroe.”
I like it—it pays—but, ere that length I go,
A man that goes mad for the love of a woman
I sometimes can cure with a lecture, or so.”
“Why, thank you, sir; there spoke the man and the friend too;
Death is the last reckoner with friend or with foe:
The lecture then, first, if you please, I'll attend to;
The other, of course, you know, Doctor Monroe.”
274
The lecture is said—How severe, keen, an' cutting,
Of love an' of wedlock, each loss an' each woe!
The patient got up—o'er the floor he went strutting,
Smil'd, caper'd, an' shook hands with Doctor Monroe.
He dresses, an' flaunts it with Bell, Sue, and Chirsty,
But freedom an' fun chooses not to forego;
He still lives a batchelor, drinks when he's thirsty,
An' sings like a lark, an' loves Doctor Monroe!
Of love an' of wedlock, each loss an' each woe!
The patient got up—o'er the floor he went strutting,
Smil'd, caper'd, an' shook hands with Doctor Monroe.
He dresses, an' flaunts it with Bell, Sue, and Chirsty,
But freedom an' fun chooses not to forego;
He still lives a batchelor, drinks when he's thirsty,
An' sings like a lark, an' loves Doctor Monroe!
Love's Like a Dizziness.
I lately lived in quiet case,
An' never wish'd to marry, O;
But when I saw my Peggy's face,
I felt a sad quandary, O.
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
She has trepanned me fairly, O:
Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear
Torment me late an' early, O.
O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness!
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!
An' never wish'd to marry, O;
But when I saw my Peggy's face,
I felt a sad quandary, O.
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
She has trepanned me fairly, O:
Her cherry cheeks an' een sae clear
Torment me late an' early, O.
O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness!
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!
To tell my feats this single week
Wad mak a daft-like diary, O;
I drave my cart out-o'er a dike,
My horses in a miry, O.
I wear my stockings white an' blue,
My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O;
I drill the land that I should plough,
An' plough the drills entirely, O.
O, love, love, love! &c.
Wad mak a daft-like diary, O;
I drave my cart out-o'er a dike,
My horses in a miry, O.
I wear my stockings white an' blue,
My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O;
I drill the land that I should plough,
An' plough the drills entirely, O.
O, love, love, love! &c.
Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,
I raise to theek the stable, O;
I cuist my coat, an' plied away
As fast as I was able, O:
I wrought that morning out an' out,
As I'd been redding fire, O;
When I had done an' look'd about,
Gude faith, it was the byre, O!
O, love, love, love! &c.
I raise to theek the stable, O;
I cuist my coat, an' plied away
As fast as I was able, O:
I wrought that morning out an' out,
As I'd been redding fire, O;
When I had done an' look'd about,
Gude faith, it was the byre, O!
O, love, love, love! &c.
Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget;
The dear, the lovely blinkin o't,
Has pierced me through an' through the heart,
An' plagues me wi' the prinkling o't.
I tried to sing, I tried to pray,
I tried to drown't wi' drinkin' o't;
I tried wi' sport to drive't away,
But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.
O, love, love, love! &c.
The dear, the lovely blinkin o't,
Has pierced me through an' through the heart,
An' plagues me wi' the prinkling o't.
I tried to sing, I tried to pray,
I tried to drown't wi' drinkin' o't;
I tried wi' sport to drive't away,
But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.
O, love, love, love! &c.
Were Peggie's love to hire the job,
An' save my heart frae breaking, O,
I'd put a girdle round the globe,
Or dive in Corryvrekin, O;
Or howk a grave at midnight dark
In yonder vault sae eerie, O;
Or gang an' spier for Mungo Park
Through Africa sae dreary, O.
O, love, love, love! &c.
An' save my heart frae breaking, O,
I'd put a girdle round the globe,
Or dive in Corryvrekin, O;
Or howk a grave at midnight dark
In yonder vault sae eerie, O;
Or gang an' spier for Mungo Park
Through Africa sae dreary, O.
O, love, love, love! &c.
Nae man can tell what pains I prove,
Or how severe my pliskie, O;
I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love,
Than ever I was wi' whisky, O.
For love has raked me fore an' aft,
I scarce can lift a leggie, O:
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O.
O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness!
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!
Or how severe my pliskie, O;
I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love,
Than ever I was wi' whisky, O.
For love has raked me fore an' aft,
I scarce can lift a leggie, O:
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O.
O, love, love, love!
Love is like a dizziness!
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!
Auld Ettrick John.
There dwalt a man on Ettrick side,
An honest man I wat was he;
His name was John, an' he was born
A year afore the thretty-three.
He wed a wife when he was young,
But she had dee'd, and John was wae;
He wantit lang, at length did gang
To court Nell Brunton o' the Brae.
An honest man I wat was he;
His name was John, an' he was born
A year afore the thretty-three.
He wed a wife when he was young,
But she had dee'd, and John was wae;
He wantit lang, at length did gang
To court Nell Brunton o' the Brae.
Auld John cam daddin' down the hill,
His arm was waggin' manfullye,
He thought his shadow look'd nae ill,
As aft he keek'd aside to see;
His shoon war four punds weight a-piece,
On ilka leg a ho had he,
His doublet strang was large an' lang,
His breeks they hardly reached his knee;
His arm was waggin' manfullye,
He thought his shadow look'd nae ill,
As aft he keek'd aside to see;
His shoon war four punds weight a-piece,
On ilka leg a ho had he,
His doublet strang was large an' lang,
His breeks they hardly reached his knee;
His coat was thread about wi' green,
The moths had wrought it muckle harm,
The pouches were an ell atween,
The cuff was fauldit up the arm;
He wore a bonnet on his head,
The bung upon his shoulders lay,
An' by its neb ye wad hae read
That Johnnie view'd the milky way:
The moths had wrought it muckle harm,
The pouches were an ell atween,
The cuff was fauldit up the arm;
He wore a bonnet on his head,
The bung upon his shoulders lay,
An' by its neb ye wad hae read
That Johnnie view'd the milky way:
For Johnnie to himself he said,
As he came duntin' down the brae,
“A wooer ne'er should hing his head,
But blink the breeze an' brow the day;”
An' Johnnie said unto himsel',
“A wooer risks nae broken banes;
I'll tell the lassie sic a tale
Will gar her look twa gates at ance.”
As he came duntin' down the brae,
“A wooer ne'er should hing his head,
But blink the breeze an' brow the day;”
An' Johnnie said unto himsel',
“A wooer risks nae broken banes;
I'll tell the lassie sic a tale
Will gar her look twa gates at ance.”
But yet, for a' his antic dress,
His cheeks wi' healthy red did glow;
His joints war knit and firm like brass,
Though siller-gray his head did grow;
An' John, although he had nae lands,
Had twa gude kye amang the knowes,
A hunder punds in honest hands,
An' sax-an-thretty doddit ewes.
His cheeks wi' healthy red did glow;
275
Though siller-gray his head did grow;
An' John, although he had nae lands,
Had twa gude kye amang the knowes,
A hunder punds in honest hands,
An' sax-an-thretty doddit ewes.
An' Nelly was a sonsie lass,
Fu' ripe an' ruddy was her mou',
Her een war like twa beads o' glass,
Her brow was white like Cheviot woo;
Her cheeks war bright as heather-bells,
Her bosom like December snaw,
Her teeth war whiter nor egg-shells,
Her hair was like the hoody craw.
Fu' ripe an' ruddy was her mou',
Her een war like twa beads o' glass,
Her brow was white like Cheviot woo;
Her cheeks war bright as heather-bells,
Her bosom like December snaw,
Her teeth war whiter nor egg-shells,
Her hair was like the hoody craw.
John crackit o' his bob-tail'd ewes;
He crackit o' his good milk-kye,
His kebbucks, hams, an' cogs o' brose,
An' siller out at trust forby;
An' aye he showed his buirdly limb,
As bragging o' his feats sae rare,
An' a' the honours paid to him
At kirk, at market, or at fair.
He crackit o' his good milk-kye,
His kebbucks, hams, an' cogs o' brose,
An' siller out at trust forby;
An' aye he showed his buirdly limb,
As bragging o' his feats sae rare,
An' a' the honours paid to him
At kirk, at market, or at fair.
Wi' sic-like say he wan the day,
Nell soon became his dashin' bride;
But ilka joy soon fled away
Frae Johnnie's canty ingle side;
For there was fretting late an' air,
An' something aye awanting still:
The saucy taunt an' bitter jeer—
Now, sic a life does unco ill.
Nell soon became his dashin' bride;
But ilka joy soon fled away
Frae Johnnie's canty ingle side;
For there was fretting late an' air,
An' something aye awanting still:
The saucy taunt an' bitter jeer—
Now, sic a life does unco ill.
An' John will be a gaishen soon;
His teeth are frae their sockets flown;
The hair's peel'd aff his head aboon;
His face is milk-an'-water grown;
His legs that firm like pillars stood,
Are now grown toom an' unco sma';
She's reaved him sair o' flesh an' bluid,
An' peace o' mind, the warst of a'.
His teeth are frae their sockets flown;
The hair's peel'd aff his head aboon;
His face is milk-an'-water grown;
His legs that firm like pillars stood,
Are now grown toom an' unco sma';
She's reaved him sair o' flesh an' bluid,
An' peace o' mind, the warst of a'.
May ilka lassie understand
In time the duties of a wife;
But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,
Or tine the sweetest joys o' life.
Ye men whose heads are turning gray,
Wha to the grave are hastin' on,
Let reason a' your passions sway,
An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.
In time the duties of a wife;
But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,
Or tine the sweetest joys o' life.
Ye men whose heads are turning gray,
Wha to the grave are hastin' on,
Let reason a' your passions sway,
An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.
Ye lasses, lightsome, blithe, an' fair,
Let pure affection win the hand;
Ne'er stoop to lead a life o' care,
Wi' doited age, for gear or land.
When ilka lad your beauty slights,
An' ilka blush is broke wi' wae,
Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights
O' Nell, the lassie o' the Brae.
Let pure affection win the hand;
Ne'er stoop to lead a life o' care,
Wi' doited age, for gear or land.
When ilka lad your beauty slights,
An' ilka blush is broke wi' wae,
Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights
O' Nell, the lassie o' the Brae.
In another edition the conclusion of the song stands thus:
“Gudewife,” quo John, as he sat down,
“I'm come to court your daughter Nell;
An' if I die immediately
She shall hae a' the gowd hersel.
An' if I chance to hae a son,
I'll breed him up a braw divine;
An' I'll provide for a' the lave,
Although we should hae aught or nine.”
“I'm come to court your daughter Nell;
An' if I die immediately
She shall hae a' the gowd hersel.
An' if I chance to hae a son,
I'll breed him up a braw divine;
An' I'll provide for a' the lave,
Although we should hae aught or nine.”
Wi' little say he wan the day,
She soon became his bonnie bride;
But ilka joy is fled away
Frae Johnnie's cantie ingle side.
She frets, an' greets, an' visits aft,
In hopes some lad will see her hame;
But never ane will be sae daft
As tent auld Johnnie's flisky dame.
She soon became his bonnie bride;
But ilka joy is fled away
Frae Johnnie's cantie ingle side.
She frets, an' greets, an' visits aft,
In hopes some lad will see her hame;
But never ane will be sae daft
As tent auld Johnnie's flisky dame.
An' John will be a gaishen soon;
His teeth are frae their sockets flown;
The hair's peeled aff his head aboon;
His face is milk-an'-water grown:
His legs, that firm like pillars stood,
Are now grown toom an' unco sma';
She's reaved him sair o' flesh an' bluid,
An' peace o' mind, the warst of a'.
His teeth are frae their sockets flown;
The hair's peeled aff his head aboon;
His face is milk-an'-water grown:
His legs, that firm like pillars stood,
Are now grown toom an' unco sma';
She's reaved him sair o' flesh an' bluid,
An' peace o' mind, the warst of a'.
Let ilka lassie tak a man,
An' ilka callan tak a wife;
But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,
Or tine the sweetest joys o' life.
Ye men whase heads are turning gray,
Wha to the grave are hasting on,
Let reason aye your passion sway,
An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.
An' ilka callan tak a wife;
But youth wi' youth gae hand in hand,
Or tine the sweetest joys o' life.
Ye men whase heads are turning gray,
Wha to the grave are hasting on,
Let reason aye your passion sway,
An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John.
An' all ye lasses, plump an' fair,
Let pure affection guide your hand,
Nor stoop to lead a life o' care
Wi' withered age for gear or land.
When ilka lad your beauty slights,
An' ilka smile shall yield to wae,
Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights
O' Nell, the lassie o' the Brae.
Let pure affection guide your hand,
Nor stoop to lead a life o' care
Wi' withered age for gear or land.
When ilka lad your beauty slights,
An' ilka smile shall yield to wae,
Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights
O' Nell, the lassie o' the Brae.
Bonnie Beety.
“I was a weaver, young an' free,
Sae frank an' cheery aye to meet wi',
Until wi' ane unwary e'e
I view'd the charms o' bonnie Beety.
Lack-a-day!
Far away
Will I gae,
If I lose her.
Sae frank an' cheery aye to meet wi',
Until wi' ane unwary e'e
I view'd the charms o' bonnie Beety.
Lack-a-day!
Far away
Will I gae,
If I lose her.
I tauld her I had got a wound
Through sark an' waistcoat frae her sweet e'e;
She said it ne'er should do't again,
An' off like lightning flew my Beety.
Luckless day!
May I say,
When my way
Led to Beety.
Through sark an' waistcoat frae her sweet e'e;
She said it ne'er should do't again,
An' off like lightning flew my Beety.
Luckless day!
May I say,
When my way
Led to Beety.
Ae day she cam wi' hanks o' yarn,
When wi' my wark my face was sweaty;
She said I was a crieshy thief,
An' ne'er should get a kiss o' Beety.
O ho, ho, hon!
Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en
A weaver's ruin.
When wi' my wark my face was sweaty;
She said I was a crieshy thief,
An' ne'er should get a kiss o' Beety.
276
Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en
A weaver's ruin.
She laughs at me an' at my loom,
An' wi' the herd has made a treaty;
But wae light on his clouted shoon,
How durst he e'er attempt my Beety?
Oh how blind,
Eyes an' mind,
Womankind
Are to their profit!
An' wi' the herd has made a treaty;
But wae light on his clouted shoon,
How durst he e'er attempt my Beety?
Oh how blind,
Eyes an' mind,
Womankind
Are to their profit!
But by my shuttle now I swear,
An' by my beam, if Watie meet me,
I'll cut his throat frae ear to ear—
I'll lose my life or gain my Beety.
Blood an' guts!
Jades an' sluts!
I'll lose my wits,
If I lose Beety.”
An' by my beam, if Watie meet me,
I'll cut his throat frae ear to ear—
I'll lose my life or gain my Beety.
Blood an' guts!
Jades an' sluts!
I'll lose my wits,
If I lose Beety.”
Thus sang the weaver at his wark,
An' wi' pure grief was like to greet aye,
When Charlie brought a letter ben,
He thought he ken'd the hand o' Beety.
Happy day!
Did he say,
When my way
Led to Beety.
An' wi' pure grief was like to greet aye,
When Charlie brought a letter ben,
He thought he ken'd the hand o' Beety.
Happy day!
Did he say,
When my way
Led to Beety.
He read—“Dear sir, my wedding day
Is Friday neist, an' you maun meet me,
To wish me joy, an' drink my health,
An' dine wi' me—your servant, Beety.”
“O ho, ho, hon!
Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en
A weaver's ruin.”
Is Friday neist, an' you maun meet me,
To wish me joy, an' drink my health,
An' dine wi' me—your servant, Beety.”
“O ho, ho, hon!
Now I'm gone,
Love has pro'en
A weaver's ruin.”
He raise, sat down, an' raise again—
Ask'd Charlie if the day was sleety;
Then through his head he popp'd the lead,
An' died a fool for love o' Beety.
The web is red,
Beety's wed,
Will is dead,
An' all is over.
Ask'd Charlie if the day was sleety;
Then through his head he popp'd the lead,
An' died a fool for love o' Beety.
The web is red,
Beety's wed,
Will is dead,
An' all is over.
Ayont the Mow amang the Hay.
Blythely hae I screw'd my pipes,
An' blythely play'd the lee-lang day,
An' blyther been wi' bonnie Bess
Ayont the mow amang the hay.
Whan first I saw the bonnie face
O' Bessie, bloomin' in her teens,
She wil'd away this heart o' mine,
An' ca'd it fou o' corkin' preens.
An' blythely play'd the lee-lang day,
An' blyther been wi' bonnie Bess
Ayont the mow amang the hay.
Whan first I saw the bonnie face
O' Bessie, bloomin' in her teens,
She wil'd away this heart o' mine,
An' ca'd it fou o' corkin' preens.
“At e'en, when a' the lave gae lie,
An' grannie steeks her waukrife e'e,
Steal out when i' the winnock tap,
Ahint the ha' I'll meet wi' thee.”
She leuch an' bade me let her hame,
Her mither sair wad flyte an' scauld;
But ere I quat my bonnie Bess,
Anither tale I trow she tauld.
An' grannie steeks her waukrife e'e,
Steal out when i' the winnock tap,
Ahint the ha' I'll meet wi' thee.”
She leuch an' bade me let her hame,
Her mither sair wad flyte an' scauld;
But ere I quat my bonnie Bess,
Anither tale I trow she tauld.
On Tysday night, fu' weel I wat,
Wi' hinny words I row'd my tongue,
Raught down my plaid, an' stievely stak
Intil my neive a hazel rung.
Now when I con'd my artless tale
Gaun linkin' owre the lily lea,
Fu' weel I trow'd that ilka bush
Some jeering question speir'd at me.
Wi' hinny words I row'd my tongue,
Raught down my plaid, an' stievely stak
Intil my neive a hazel rung.
Now when I con'd my artless tale
Gaun linkin' owre the lily lea,
Fu' weel I trow'd that ilka bush
Some jeering question speir'd at me.
The bleeter cry'd frae yont the loch,
“O hoolie, hoolie,—whare ye gaun?”
The craik reply'd frae mang the corn,
“Turn out your taes, my bonnie man.”
An' soon I found, wi' shiv'rin' shanks,
My heart play dunt through bashfu' fear,
Whan glowrin' owre the kail-yard dyke
To see gin a' the coast was clear;
“O hoolie, hoolie,—whare ye gaun?”
The craik reply'd frae mang the corn,
“Turn out your taes, my bonnie man.”
An' soon I found, wi' shiv'rin' shanks,
My heart play dunt through bashfu' fear,
Whan glowrin' owre the kail-yard dyke
To see gin a' the coast was clear;
An' there, like ony nightly thief,
Wi' eerie swither lour'd awhile,
Till rallying ilka traitor nerve,
I lightly laup outo'er the style;
Syne gae the glass twa cannie pats,
An' Bessie bade na lang frae me;
The rusty lock was ullied weel,
An' ilka hinge o' cheepin' free.
Wi' eerie swither lour'd awhile,
Till rallying ilka traitor nerve,
I lightly laup outo'er the style;
Syne gae the glass twa cannie pats,
An' Bessie bade na lang frae me;
The rusty lock was ullied weel,
An' ilka hinge o' cheepin' free.
O say, ye haly minstrel band,
Wha saw the saft, the silken hour,
Though joys celestial on ye wait,
Say, was your bliss mair chastely pure?
Blythely hae I screw'd my pipes,
An' blythely play'd the lee-lang day,
An' happy been wi' bonnie Bess,
Ayont the mow amang the hay.
Wha saw the saft, the silken hour,
Though joys celestial on ye wait,
Say, was your bliss mair chastely pure?
Blythely hae I screw'd my pipes,
An' blythely play'd the lee-lang day,
An' happy been wi' bonnie Bess,
Ayont the mow amang the hay.
The Drinkin', O;
A SANG FOR THE LADIES.
Oh wae to the wearifu' drinkin', O!
That foe to reflection an' thinkin', O!
Our charms are gi'en in vain,
Social conversation's gane,
For the rattlin' o' guns an' the drinkin', O!
That foe to reflection an' thinkin', O!
Our charms are gi'en in vain,
Social conversation's gane,
For the rattlin' o' guns an' the drinkin', O!
Oh why will you ply at the drinkin', O?
Which to weakness will soon lead you linkin', O!
These eyes that shine sae bright,
Soon will be a weary sight,
When ye're a' sittin' noddin' an' winkin', O!
Which to weakness will soon lead you linkin', O!
These eyes that shine sae bright,
Soon will be a weary sight,
When ye're a' sittin' noddin' an' winkin', O!
277
For ever may we grieve for the drinkin', O!
The respect that is due daily sinkin', O!
Our presence sair abused,
An' our company refused,
An' its a' for the wearifu' drinkin', O!
The respect that is due daily sinkin', O!
Our presence sair abused,
An' our company refused,
An' its a' for the wearifu' drinkin', O!
Oh drive us not away wi' your drinkin', O!
We like your presence mair than ye're thinkin', O!
We'll gie ye another sang,
An' ye're no to think it lang,
For the sake o' your wearifu' drinkin', O!
We like your presence mair than ye're thinkin', O!
We'll gie ye another sang,
An' ye're no to think it lang,
For the sake o' your wearifu' drinkin', O!
Sweet delicacy, turn to us blinkin', O!
For by day the guns and swords still are clinkin', O!
An' at night the flowin' bowl
Bothers ilka manly soul,
Then there's naething but beblin' an' drinkin', O!
For by day the guns and swords still are clinkin', O!
An' at night the flowin' bowl
Bothers ilka manly soul,
Then there's naething but beblin' an' drinkin', O!
Gentle peace, come an' wean them frae drinkin', O!
Bring the little footy boy wi' you winkin', O!
Gar him thraw at ilka man,
An' wound as deep's he can,
Or we're ruin'd by the wearifu' drinkin', O!
Bring the little footy boy wi' you winkin', O!
Gar him thraw at ilka man,
An' wound as deep's he can,
Or we're ruin'd by the wearifu' drinkin', O!
Gracie Miller.
“Little, queer bit auld body,
Whar ye gaun sae late at e'en?
Sic a massy auld body
I saw never wi' my e'en.”
“I'm gaun to court the bonniest lass
That ever stepp'd in leather shoe.”
“But little shabby auld body,
Where's the lass will look at you?
Whar ye gaun sae late at e'en?
Sic a massy auld body
I saw never wi' my e'en.”
“I'm gaun to court the bonniest lass
That ever stepp'd in leather shoe.”
“But little shabby auld body,
Where's the lass will look at you?
“Ere I war kiss'd wi' ane like you,
Or sic a man cam to my bed,
I'd rather kiss the hawkit cow,
An' in my bosom tak a taed.
Wha ever weds wi' sic a stock
Will be a gibe to a' the lave:
Little, stupit auld body,
Rather think upon your grave.”
Or sic a man cam to my bed,
I'd rather kiss the hawkit cow,
An' in my bosom tak a taed.
Wha ever weds wi' sic a stock
Will be a gibe to a' the lave:
Little, stupit auld body,
Rather think upon your grave.”
“But I'm sae deep in love wi' ane,
I'll wed or die, it maks na whether:
Oh! she's the prettiest, sweetest queen
That ever brush'd the dew frae heather!
The fairest Venus ever drawn
Is naething but a bogle till her;
She's fresher than the morning dawn,
An' hark—her name is Gracie Miller.”
I'll wed or die, it maks na whether:
Oh! she's the prettiest, sweetest queen
That ever brush'd the dew frae heather!
The fairest Venus ever drawn
Is naething but a bogle till her;
She's fresher than the morning dawn,
An' hark—her name is Gracie Miller.”
She rais'd her hands; her e'en they reel'd,
Then wi' a skirl outo'er she fell;
An' aye she leuch, an' aye she squeel'd,
“Hey, mercy! body, that's mysel'!”
Then down he hurkled by her side,
An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her;
An' whiles she leuch, an' whiles she sigh'd,
An' lean'd her head upon his shoulder.
Then wi' a skirl outo'er she fell;
An' aye she leuch, an' aye she squeel'd,
“Hey, mercy! body, that's mysel'!”
Then down he hurkled by her side,
An' kiss'd her hand, an' warmly woo'd her;
An' whiles she leuch, an' whiles she sigh'd,
An' lean'd her head upon his shoulder.
“O pity me, my bonnie Grace!
My words are true, ye needna doubt 'em;
Nae man can see your bonnie face
An' keep his senses a' about him.”
“Troth, honest man, I ken'd langsyne
Nae ither lass could equal wi' me;
But yet the brag sae justly mine
Was tint, till you hae chanc'd to see me.
My words are true, ye needna doubt 'em;
Nae man can see your bonnie face
An' keep his senses a' about him.”
“Troth, honest man, I ken'd langsyne
Nae ither lass could equal wi' me;
But yet the brag sae justly mine
Was tint, till you hae chanc'd to see me.
“Though ye want yudith, gear, an' mense,
Ye hae a dash o' amorous fire;
Ye hae good taste, an' sterling sense,
An' ye sal hae your heart's desire.”
Oh, woman! woman! after death,
If that vain nature still is given,
An' deils get leave to use their breath,
They'll flatter ye into hell frae heaven.
Ye hae a dash o' amorous fire;
Ye hae good taste, an' sterling sense,
An' ye sal hae your heart's desire.”
Oh, woman! woman! after death,
If that vain nature still is given,
An' deils get leave to use their breath,
They'll flatter ye into hell frae heaven.
Birniebouzle.
Will ye gang wi' me, lassie,
To the braes o' Birniebouzle?
Baith the yird an' sea, lassie,
Will I rob to fend ye.
I'll hunt the otter an' the brock,
The hart, the hare, an' heather-cock,
An' pu' the limpet aff the rock,
To fatten an' to mend ye.
To the braes o' Birniebouzle?
Baith the yird an' sea, lassie,
Will I rob to fend ye.
I'll hunt the otter an' the brock,
The hart, the hare, an' heather-cock,
An' pu' the limpet aff the rock,
To fatten an' to mend ye.
If ye'll gang wi' me, lassie,
To the braes of Birniebouzle,
Till the day you dee, lassie,
Want shall ne'er come near ye.
The peats I'll carry in a skull,
The cod an' ling wi' hooks I'll pull,
An' reave the eggs o' mony a gull,
To please my denty dearie.
To the braes of Birniebouzle,
Till the day you dee, lassie,
Want shall ne'er come near ye.
The peats I'll carry in a skull,
The cod an' ling wi' hooks I'll pull,
An' reave the eggs o' mony a gull,
To please my denty dearie.
Sae canty will we be, lassie,
At the braes o' Birniebouzle,
Donald Gun and me, lassie,
Ever sal attend ye.
Though we hae nowther milk nor meal,
Nor lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal,
We'll fank the porpy and the seal,
And that's the way to fend ye.
At the braes o' Birniebouzle,
Donald Gun and me, lassie,
Ever sal attend ye.
Though we hae nowther milk nor meal,
Nor lamb nor mutton, beef nor veal,
We'll fank the porpy and the seal,
And that's the way to fend ye.
An' ye sal gang sae braw, lassie,
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
Wi' littit brogues an' a', lassie,
Wow but ye'll be vaunty!
An' you sal wear, when you are wed,
The kirtle an' the Hieland plaid,
An' sleep upon a heather bed,
Sae cozie an' sae canty.
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
Wi' littit brogues an' a', lassie,
Wow but ye'll be vaunty!
An' you sal wear, when you are wed,
The kirtle an' the Hieland plaid,
An' sleep upon a heather bed,
Sae cozie an' sae canty.
278
If ye'll but marry me, lassie,
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
A' my joy shall be, lassie,
Ever to content ye.
I'll bait the line and bear the pail,
An' row the boat and spread the sail,
An' drag the larry at my tail,
When mussel hives are plenty.
At the kirk o' Birniebouzle,
A' my joy shall be, lassie,
Ever to content ye.
I'll bait the line and bear the pail,
An' row the boat and spread the sail,
An' drag the larry at my tail,
When mussel hives are plenty.
Then come awa' wi' me, lassie,
To the braes o' Birniebouzle;
Bonnie lassie, dear lassie,
You shall ne'er repent ye.
For you shall own a bught o'ewes,
A brace o' gaits, and byre o' cows,
An' be the lady o' my house,
An' lads an' lasses plenty.
To the braes o' Birniebouzle;
Bonnie lassie, dear lassie,
You shall ne'er repent ye.
For you shall own a bught o'ewes,
A brace o' gaits, and byre o' cows,
An' be the lady o' my house,
An' lads an' lasses plenty.
Life is a Weary Cobble o' Care.
Life is a weary, weary, weary,
Life is a weary cobble o' care;
The poets mislead you,
Wha ca' it a meadow,
For life is a puddle o' perfect despair.
We love an' we marry,
We fight an' we vary,
Get children to plague an' confound us for aye;
Our daughters grow limmers,
Our sons they grow sinners,
An' scorn ilka word that a parent can say.
Life is a weary cobble o' care;
The poets mislead you,
Wha ca' it a meadow,
For life is a puddle o' perfect despair.
We love an' we marry,
We fight an' we vary,
Get children to plague an' confound us for aye;
Our daughters grow limmers,
Our sons they grow sinners,
An' scorn ilka word that a parent can say.
Man is a steerer, steerer, steerer,
Man is a steerer, life is a pool;
We wrestle an' fustle,
For riches we bustle,
Then drap in the grave, an' leave a' to a fool.
Youth again could I see,
Women should wilie be,
Ere I were wheedled to sorrow an' pain;
I should take care o' them,
Never to marry them;
Hang me if buckled in wedlock again.
Man is a steerer, life is a pool;
We wrestle an' fustle,
For riches we bustle,
Then drap in the grave, an' leave a' to a fool.
Youth again could I see,
Women should wilie be,
Ere I were wheedled to sorrow an' pain;
I should take care o' them,
Never to marry them;
Hang me if buckled in wedlock again.
Jock an' his Mother.
“Now, mother, since a' our fine lasses ye saw
Yestreen at the wedding, sae trig an' sae braw,
Say, isna my Peggy the flower o' them a',
Our dance an' our party adorning?
Her form is sae fair, an' her features sae fine,
Her cheek like the lily anointit wi' wine,
The beam o' her bonnie blue e'e does outshine
The starn that appears i' the morning.”
Yestreen at the wedding, sae trig an' sae braw,
Say, isna my Peggy the flower o' them a',
Our dance an' our party adorning?
Her form is sae fair, an' her features sae fine,
Her cheek like the lily anointit wi' wine,
The beam o' her bonnie blue e'e does outshine
The starn that appears i' the morning.”
“Awa', ye poor booby! your skeel is but sma'
Gin ye marry Peggy ye'll ruin us a';
She lives like a lady, and dresses as braw,
But how will she rise i' the morning?
She'll lie in her bed till eleven, while ye
Maun rise an' prepare her her toast an' her tea;
Her frien's will be angry an' send ye to sea:
Dear Jock, tak a thought an' some warning.”
Gin ye marry Peggy ye'll ruin us a';
She lives like a lady, and dresses as braw,
But how will she rise i' the morning?
She'll lie in her bed till eleven, while ye
Maun rise an' prepare her her toast an' her tea;
Her frien's will be angry an' send ye to sea:
Dear Jock, tak a thought an' some warning.”
“Oh, mother, sic beauty I canna forego,
I've sworn I will have her, come weal or come woe,
An' that wad be perjury black as a crow
To leave her an' think of another.”
“An' if ye should wed her, your prospects are fine,
In meal-pocks and rags you will instantly shine;
Gae break your mad vow, an' the sin shall be mine—
Oh pity yoursel' an' your mother!”
I've sworn I will have her, come weal or come woe,
An' that wad be perjury black as a crow
To leave her an' think of another.”
“An' if ye should wed her, your prospects are fine,
In meal-pocks and rags you will instantly shine;
Gae break your mad vow, an' the sin shall be mine—
Oh pity yoursel' an' your mother!”
“I'm sure my dear Peggy is lovely as May,
An' I saw her father this very same day,
An' tauld him I was for his daughter away.”
“Sure, Jock, he wad tak it for scorning?”
“He said he would gie me a horse an' a cow,
A hunder good ewes, an' a pack o' his woo,
To stock the bit farm at the back o' the brow,
An' gie Maggy wark i' the morning.”
An' I saw her father this very same day,
An' tauld him I was for his daughter away.”
“Sure, Jock, he wad tak it for scorning?”
“He said he would gie me a horse an' a cow,
A hunder good ewes, an' a pack o' his woo,
To stock the bit farm at the back o' the brow,
An' gie Maggy wark i' the morning.”
“Your Peggy is bonnie, I weel maun allow,
An' really 'tis dangerous breakin' a vow;
Then tak her—my blessing on Peggy an' you
Shall tarry baith e'ening an' morning.”
So Jock an' his Peggy in wedlock were bound,
The bridal was merry, the music did sound,
They went to their bed, while the glass it gaed round,
An' a' wished them joy i' the morning.
An' really 'tis dangerous breakin' a vow;
Then tak her—my blessing on Peggy an' you
Shall tarry baith e'ening an' morning.”
So Jock an' his Peggy in wedlock were bound,
The bridal was merry, the music did sound,
They went to their bed, while the glass it gaed round,
An' a' wished them joy i' the morning.
Athol Cummers.
[_]
One evening in the winter of 1800, I was sawing away on the fiddle with great energy and elevation; and having executed the strathspey called Athol Cummers much to my own satisfaction, my mother said to me, “Dear Jimmie, are there ony words to that tune?” “No that ever I heard, mother.” “O man, it's a shame to hear sic a good tune an' nae words till't. Gae away ben the house, like a good lad, and mak' me a verse till't.” The request was instantly complied with.
Duncan, lad, blaw the cummers,
Play me round the Athol cummers;
A' the din o' a' the drummers
Canna rouse like Athol cummers.
When I'm dowie, wet or weary,
Soon my heart grows light an' cheery,
When I hear the sprightly nummers
O' my dear, my Athol cummers!
Play me round the Athol cummers;
A' the din o' a' the drummers
Canna rouse like Athol cummers.
When I'm dowie, wet or weary,
Soon my heart grows light an' cheery,
When I hear the sprightly nummers
O' my dear, my Athol cummers!
When the fickle lasses vex me,
When the cares o' life perplex me,
When I'm fley'd wi' frightfu' rumours,
Then I lilt o' Athol cummers.
'Tis my cure for a' disasters,
Kebbit ewes an' crabbit masters,
Drifty nights an' dripping summers—
A' my joy is Athol cummers!
When the cares o' life perplex me,
When I'm fley'd wi' frightfu' rumours,
Then I lilt o' Athol cummers.
'Tis my cure for a' disasters,
Kebbit ewes an' crabbit masters,
279
A' my joy is Athol cummers!
Ettrick banks an' braes are bonnie,
Yarrow hills as green as ony;
But in my heart nae beauty nummers
Wi' my dear, my Athol cummers.
Lomond's beauty nought surpasses,
Save Breadalbane's bonnie lasses;
But deep within my spirit slummers
Something sweet of Athol cummers.
Yarrow hills as green as ony;
But in my heart nae beauty nummers
Wi' my dear, my Athol cummers.
Lomond's beauty nought surpasses,
Save Breadalbane's bonnie lasses;
But deep within my spirit slummers
Something sweet of Athol cummers.
Willie Wastle.
Willie Wastle lo'ed a lass
Was bright as ony rainbow;
A pretty dear I wat she was,
But saucy an' disdainfu':
She courtit was by mony a lad,
Wha teas'd her late an' early;
An' a' the wiles that Willie had
Could scarcely gain a parley.
Was bright as ony rainbow;
A pretty dear I wat she was,
But saucy an' disdainfu':
She courtit was by mony a lad,
Wha teas'd her late an' early;
An' a' the wiles that Willie had
Could scarcely gain a parley.
The western sea had drown'd the sun;
The sternies blinkit clearly;
The moon was glentin' o'er the glen,
To light him to his deary.
She dwalt amang the mountains wild,
Nae wood nor bower to shade her;
But O! the scene look'd sweet an' mild,
For love o' them that staid there.
The sternies blinkit clearly;
The moon was glentin' o'er the glen,
To light him to his deary.
She dwalt amang the mountains wild,
Nae wood nor bower to shade her;
But O! the scene look'd sweet an' mild,
For love o' them that staid there.
The cock that craw'd wi' yelpin' voice,
Nae claronet sae grand, O;
The bonnie burnie's purlin' noise,
Was sweet as the piano.
The little doggy at the door,
Into his arms he caught it,
An' hugg'd an' sleek'd it o'er and o'er,
For love o' them that aught it.
Nae claronet sae grand, O;
The bonnie burnie's purlin' noise,
Was sweet as the piano.
The little doggy at the door,
Into his arms he caught it,
An' hugg'd an' sleek'd it o'er and o'er,
For love o' them that aught it.
The house was thrang, the night was lang,
The auld gudewife bethought her,
To tak a lair was naething wrang
Beside her bonnie daughter.
Sly Willie enter'd unperceiv'd
To wake his charming Annie,
An' straight his jealous mind believ'd
The wife was shepherd Sawny.
The auld gudewife bethought her,
To tak a lair was naething wrang
Beside her bonnie daughter.
Sly Willie enter'd unperceiv'd
To wake his charming Annie,
An' straight his jealous mind believ'd
The wife was shepherd Sawny.
Though milder than the southern breeze
When July's odours waftin',
Yet now his passion made a heeze,
An' a' his reason left him;
He gae the kerlin' sic a swinge,
He didna stand on prattlin',
Till down her throat, like bristled beans,
He gart her teeth gang rattlin'.
When July's odours waftin',
Yet now his passion made a heeze,
An' a' his reason left him;
He gae the kerlin' sic a swinge,
He didna stand on prattlin',
Till down her throat, like bristled beans,
He gart her teeth gang rattlin'.
The doggy fawn'd but got a drub
Frae Willie's hand uncivil;
The burn was grown a drumly dub;
The cock a skirlin' devil.
The place appear'd a wilderness,
A desert, dank an' dreary;
For O, alas! the bonnie lass
Nae mair could mak it cheery?
Frae Willie's hand uncivil;
The burn was grown a drumly dub;
The cock a skirlin' devil.
The place appear'd a wilderness,
A desert, dank an' dreary;
For O, alas! the bonnie lass
Nae mair could mak it cheery?
O love, thou ray of life divine!
If rosy virtue guide thee,
What sense or feeling half sae fine!
What blessings to abide thee!
But jealousy, thy neighbour sour,
Deforms the finest feature,
An' maks a gloomy shade to lour
O'er fairest scenes in nature.
If rosy virtue guide thee,
What sense or feeling half sae fine!
What blessings to abide thee!
But jealousy, thy neighbour sour,
Deforms the finest feature,
An' maks a gloomy shade to lour
O'er fairest scenes in nature.
Auld John Borthick.
Auld John Borthick is gane to a weddin',
Frae Edinburgh o'er to the east neuk o' Fife;
His cheeks they war thin, an' his colour was fadin',
But auld John Borthick was mad for a wife.
His heart was as light as the lammie's in July,
An' saft as the mushroom that grows on the lea;
For bonny Miss Jeanie had squeez'd it to ulzie
Wi' ae wily blink o' her bonnie blue e'e.
Frae Edinburgh o'er to the east neuk o' Fife;
His cheeks they war thin, an' his colour was fadin',
But auld John Borthick was mad for a wife.
His heart was as light as the lammie's in July,
An' saft as the mushroom that grows on the lea;
For bonny Miss Jeanie had squeez'd it to ulzie
Wi' ae wily blink o' her bonnie blue e'e.
He sat in a neuk in confusion an' anguish;
His gravat was suddled, but that wasna a';
His head wasna beld, but his brow was turn'd languish;
His teeth warna out, but they war turnin' sma':
He saw bonnie Jeanie afore him was landit;
He saw bonnie Jeanie was favour'd by a';
By lairds an' by nobles respectfully handit;
An' wow but Miss Jeanie was bonnie an' braw!
His gravat was suddled, but that wasna a';
His head wasna beld, but his brow was turn'd languish;
His teeth warna out, but they war turnin' sma':
He saw bonnie Jeanie afore him was landit;
He saw bonnie Jeanie was favour'd by a';
By lairds an' by nobles respectfully handit;
An' wow but Miss Jeanie was bonnie an' braw!
“Alas!” quo' John Borthick, “they'll spoil the poor lassie,
An' gar her believe that she carries the bell;
I'll ne'er hae a wife sae upliftit an' saucy,
I cou'dna preserve her a month to mysel'!
But yet she's sae handsome, sae modest, an' rosy,
The man wha attains her is blest for his life;
My heart is a yearning to lie in her bosy.
Oh! dear!” quo' John Borthick, “gin I had a wife!”
An' gar her believe that she carries the bell;
I'll ne'er hae a wife sae upliftit an' saucy,
I cou'dna preserve her a month to mysel'!
But yet she's sae handsome, sae modest, an' rosy,
The man wha attains her is blest for his life;
My heart is a yearning to lie in her bosy.
Oh! dear!” quo' John Borthick, “gin I had a wife!”
Lang Geordie was tipsy; he roar'd an' he rantit;
He danc'd an' he sang, an' was brimfu' o' glee;
Of riches, of strength, an' of favour he vauntit;
No man in the world sae mighty as he.
But in cam his wife; he grew sober an' sulky;
She bade him gang hame as he valued his life;
Then cuff'd him, an' ca'd him an ass an' a monkey:
“Ha! faith!” quo' John Borthick, “I'll ne'er hae a wife.”
He danc'd an' he sang, an' was brimfu' o' glee;
Of riches, of strength, an' of favour he vauntit;
No man in the world sae mighty as he.
But in cam his wife; he grew sober an' sulky;
She bade him gang hame as he valued his life;
Then cuff'd him, an' ca'd him an ass an' a monkey:
“Ha! faith!” quo' John Borthick, “I'll ne'er hae a wife.”
280
The bride an' bridegroom to their bed they retired;
Miss Jeanie was there, an' John Borthick an' a':
He looked at Miss Jeanie, his heart was inspired;
Some said that the tears frae his haffits did fa'.
He saw the bridegroom tak the bride in his bosom;
He kiss'd her, caress'd her, an' ca'd her his life:
John turn'd him about; for he coudna compose him:
“O Lord!” quo' John Borthick, “gin I had a wife!”
Miss Jeanie was there, an' John Borthick an' a':
He looked at Miss Jeanie, his heart was inspired;
Some said that the tears frae his haffits did fa'.
He saw the bridegroom tak the bride in his bosom;
He kiss'd her, caress'd her, an' ca'd her his life:
John turn'd him about; for he coudna compose him:
“O Lord!” quo' John Borthick, “gin I had a wife!”
The mornin' appeared, an' the cobble was ready;
John Borthick was first at the end o' the bay:
But oh, to his sorrow he miss'd the sweet lady
A beau had her under his mantle away.
In less than a fortnight John Borthick was married.
To ane wha might weel be the joy o' his life:
But yet wi' confusion an' jealousy worried,
He curses the day that he married a wife.
John Borthick was first at the end o' the bay:
But oh, to his sorrow he miss'd the sweet lady
A beau had her under his mantle away.
In less than a fortnight John Borthick was married.
To ane wha might weel be the joy o' his life:
But yet wi' confusion an' jealousy worried,
He curses the day that he married a wife.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |