Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
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THERE CAM' TO OUR VILLAGE A STRANGER. |
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 | Poems and Songs |  |
295
THERE CAM' TO OUR VILLAGE A STRANGER.
There cam' to our village a stranger,
A braw chiel frae braw Lon'on town,
An' aff a braw naig at the alehouse
Fu' brawly he lighted him down.
The landlord, auld Rabbie M'Vicar,
Wi' booing I wat didna spare,
Said, “Walcome to this our plain dwallin',
Yet bravely I vow ye sall fare!
A braw chiel frae braw Lon'on town,
An' aff a braw naig at the alehouse
Fu' brawly he lighted him down.
The landlord, auld Rabbie M'Vicar,
Wi' booing I wat didna spare,
Said, “Walcome to this our plain dwallin',
Yet bravely I vow ye sall fare!
“I'll thraw round the neck o' a chuckie,
The fattest e'er ran on twa legs;
I'll slit up the craig o' a grumphie,
They mak' famous eatin'—young pigs!
There's a clag o' cowheel on a trencher,
A gude haggis sooms i' the pat,
An' Girzy, ye see, 's makin' puddin's;—
What else could we do wi' the fat?
The fattest e'er ran on twa legs;
I'll slit up the craig o' a grumphie,
They mak' famous eatin'—young pigs!
There's a clag o' cowheel on a trencher,
A gude haggis sooms i' the pat,
An' Girzy, ye see, 's makin' puddin's;—
What else could we do wi' the fat?
296
“The paitricks play whirr! 'mang the claver,
The trouties dance by in the burn;
It's fine to kill birds an' catch fishes,
An' eat them when ance we return.
An' after a's done, we've a drappie,—
The gauger ye'll surely no tell,—
I say we sall hae a gude cappie,
We whiles brew the whisky oursel!
The trouties dance by in the burn;
It's fine to kill birds an' catch fishes,
An' eat them when ance we return.
An' after a's done, we've a drappie,—
The gauger ye'll surely no tell,—
I say we sall hae a gude cappie,
We whiles brew the whisky oursel!
“For beuks we've a gay wheen amang us,
We've somebody's something on law;
We've Burns ‘complete in ae volume,’
But then the best half o't 's awa'!
We yince had a Patie and Roger,
I think we've still gatten a part,
But auld Tibby Gowans, the howdie,
Can rhyme owre the maist o't by heart.
We've somebody's something on law;
We've Burns ‘complete in ae volume,’
But then the best half o't 's awa'!
We yince had a Patie and Roger,
I think we've still gatten a part,
But auld Tibby Gowans, the howdie,
Can rhyme owre the maist o't by heart.
“For sangs, ye may hae half a hun'er;
Our Jenny hersel can sing ten;
The ‘Braw lads o” famed ‘Gala water,’
An' the lass that made love to Tam Glen.
There's Sandy M'Gregor, the piper,
His music might charm down a saunt:
I, mysel, am a bit of a scraper,
Sae what the deil else wad ye want?
Our Jenny hersel can sing ten;
The ‘Braw lads o” famed ‘Gala water,’
An' the lass that made love to Tam Glen.
There's Sandy M'Gregor, the piper,
His music might charm down a saunt:
297
Sae what the deil else wad ye want?
“There's twa three droll folk in the village,
For sample I'se name ye a few:
There's Jamie Macfarlane, the skipper,
He's been whaur the oranges grew.
An' there's Eppie Blake, decent bodie,
Brings cookies frae Auld Reekie's town;
Na, mair—she sells tea, tripe, an' soda,
An' sugar baith candied and brown.
For sample I'se name ye a few:
There's Jamie Macfarlane, the skipper,
He's been whaur the oranges grew.
An' there's Eppie Blake, decent bodie,
Brings cookies frae Auld Reekie's town;
Na, mair—she sells tea, tripe, an' soda,
An' sugar baith candied and brown.
“I've a sword that shed bluid at Culloden;
O' Charlie's gowd locks I've a hair;
A shoe that has Africa trodden—
It belanged to Mungo Park's mare!
Then sic is a spice o' our village,
O' what you may baith eat an' see;
An' now, by the ghaist o' my gutcher!
We'll hae ben a bottle an' pree!”
O' Charlie's gowd locks I've a hair;
A shoe that has Africa trodden—
It belanged to Mungo Park's mare!
Then sic is a spice o' our village,
O' what you may baith eat an' see;
An' now, by the ghaist o' my gutcher!
We'll hae ben a bottle an' pree!”
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