The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDING. |
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
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THE KEBBUCKSTON WEDDING.
Auld Wattie of Kebbuckston brae,
With lear and reading of books auld-farren,—
What think ye! the body came owre the day
And tauld us he 's gaun to be married to Mirren.
We a' got a bidding
To gang to the wedding,
Baith Johnnie and Sandie, and Nellie and Nannie;
And Tam o' the Knowes,
He swears and he vows,
At the dancing he 'll face the bride with his granny.
With lear and reading of books auld-farren,—
What think ye! the body came owre the day
And tauld us he 's gaun to be married to Mirren.
We a' got a bidding
To gang to the wedding,
Baith Johnnie and Sandie, and Nellie and Nannie;
And Tam o' the Knowes,
He swears and he vows,
At the dancing he 'll face the bride with his granny.
A' the lads ha'e trystet their joes:
Slee Willie came up and ca'd on Nellie;
Although she was hecht to Geordie Bowse,
She 's gi'en him the gunk and she 's gaun wi' Willie.
Wee collier Johnnie
Has yoket his pony,
And's aff to the town for a lading of nappy,
Wi' fouth of good meat
To serve us to eat;
Sae with fuddling and feasting we 'll a' be fu' happy.
Slee Willie came up and ca'd on Nellie;
Although she was hecht to Geordie Bowse,
She 's gi'en him the gunk and she 's gaun wi' Willie.
Wee collier Johnnie
Has yoket his pony,
And's aff to the town for a lading of nappy,
Wi' fouth of good meat
To serve us to eat;
Sae with fuddling and feasting we 'll a' be fu' happy.
Wee Patie Brydie's to say the grace—
The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings;
And Flunkie M'Fee, of the Skiverton place,
Is chosen to scuttle the pies and the puddings:
For there'll be plenty
Of ilka thing dainty,
Baith lang kail and haggis, and ev'ry thing fitting;
With luggies of beer,
Our wizzens to clear;
Sae the de'il fill his kyte wha gaes clung frae the meeting.
The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings;
And Flunkie M'Fee, of the Skiverton place,
Is chosen to scuttle the pies and the puddings:
For there'll be plenty
Of ilka thing dainty,
Baith lang kail and haggis, and ev'ry thing fitting;
With luggies of beer,
Our wizzens to clear;
Sae the de'il fill his kyte wha gaes clung frae the meeting.
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Lowrie has caft Gibbie Cameron's gun,
That his auld gutcher bore when he follow'd Prince Charlie;
The barrel was rusted and black as the grun,
But he 's ta'en't to the smiddy and's fettled it rarely.
With wallets of pouther,
His musket he 'll shouther,
And ride at our head, to the bride's a-parading;
At ilka farm town
He 'll fire them three roun',
Till the haill kintra ring with the Kebbuckston Wedding.
That his auld gutcher bore when he follow'd Prince Charlie;
The barrel was rusted and black as the grun,
But he 's ta'en't to the smiddy and's fettled it rarely.
With wallets of pouther,
His musket he 'll shouther,
And ride at our head, to the bride's a-parading;
At ilka farm town
He 'll fire them three roun',
Till the haill kintra ring with the Kebbuckston Wedding.
Jamie and Johnnie maun ride the broose,
For few like them can sit in the saddle;
And Willie Ga'breath, the best o' bows,
Is trysted to jig in the barn with his fiddle.
With whisking and flisking,
And reeling and wheeling,
The young anes are like to loup out of the body;
And Neilie M'Nairn,
Though sair forfairn,
He vows that he 'll wallop twa sets with the howdie.
For few like them can sit in the saddle;
And Willie Ga'breath, the best o' bows,
Is trysted to jig in the barn with his fiddle.
With whisking and flisking,
And reeling and wheeling,
The young anes are like to loup out of the body;
And Neilie M'Nairn,
Though sair forfairn,
He vows that he 'll wallop twa sets with the howdie.
Sannie M'Nab, wi' his tartan trews,
Has hecht to come down in the midst of the caper,
And gi'e us three wallops of merry shantrews,
With the true Highland fling of Macrimmon the piper.
Sic hipping and skipping,
And springing and flinging,
I 'se wad that there 's name in the Lawlands can waff it!
Faith! Willie maun fiddle,
And jirgum and diddle,
And screed till the sweat fa's in beads frae his haffet.
Has hecht to come down in the midst of the caper,
And gi'e us three wallops of merry shantrews,
With the true Highland fling of Macrimmon the piper.
Sic hipping and skipping,
And springing and flinging,
I 'se wad that there 's name in the Lawlands can waff it!
Faith! Willie maun fiddle,
And jirgum and diddle,
And screed till the sweat fa's in beads frae his haffet.
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Then gi'e me your hand, my trusty good frien',
And gi'e me your word, my worthy auld kimmer,
Ye 'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen,
And join us in ranting and tooming the timmer.
With fouth of good liquor,
We 'll haud at the bicker,
And lang may the mailing of Kebbuckston flourish;
For Wattie's sae free,
Between you and me,
I 'se warrant he 's bidden the half of the parish.
And gi'e me your word, my worthy auld kimmer,
Ye 'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen,
And join us in ranting and tooming the timmer.
With fouth of good liquor,
We 'll haud at the bicker,
And lang may the mailing of Kebbuckston flourish;
For Wattie's sae free,
Between you and me,
I 'se warrant he 's bidden the half of the parish.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |