 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
72
CALLER HERRIN'.
“Ah, feechanie! they 're no' for me!
Guidwife, your herrin 's stinkin';
O sic a smell! just fin' yoursel',
I weel could ken them winkin'.”
“The deevil dance your lady gab!
Gae doun the close, ye dirty drab!
They 're caller fish, as ane can wish;
She needna miss a dainty dish,—
But, barmy jade! she 's winkin'.”
Guidwife, your herrin 's stinkin';
O sic a smell! just fin' yoursel',
I weel could ken them winkin'.”
“The deevil dance your lady gab!
Gae doun the close, ye dirty drab!
They 're caller fish, as ane can wish;
She needna miss a dainty dish,—
But, barmy jade! she 's winkin'.”
“How daur you trow that I am fou,
Ye flounder-gabbit gipsy!
Set doun your creel, I 'll gar you feel
I 'm neither fou nor tipsy.”
“Gude trouth! if I my creel set doun,
I 'll wad my life to hauf-a-croun
I 'll gar ye yelp, like ony whelp,
And cry for help, wi' skelp on skelp,—
I 'll gi'e her hipsey-dixey!”
Ye flounder-gabbit gipsy!
Set doun your creel, I 'll gar you feel
I 'm neither fou nor tipsy.”
“Gude trouth! if I my creel set doun,
I 'll wad my life to hauf-a-croun
I 'll gar ye yelp, like ony whelp,
And cry for help, wi' skelp on skelp,—
I 'll gi'e her hipsey-dixey!”
[“Ye 'd talk to me like that, ye drab,
And glare wi' sic an e'e;]
To fyle my han's wi' sic as ye,—
Gude feth! I 'll ne'er bemean me.”
“Weel, honest folks, a' this ye hear?
It 's mair than flesh an' blood can bear.
I 'll tell you what, ye birsie cat!
Tak' that, an' that, for a' your chat;
Now, tell what I ha'e gi'en ye!”
And glare wi' sic an e'e;]
To fyle my han's wi' sic as ye,—
Gude feth! I 'll ne'er bemean me.”
“Weel, honest folks, a' this ye hear?
It 's mair than flesh an' blood can bear.
I 'll tell you what, ye birsie cat!
Tak' that, an' that, for a' your chat;
Now, tell what I ha'e gi'en ye!”
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |