Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE PAINTER. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
THE PAINTER.
The painter cam' to the castle ha',
The likeness o' lovely Miss Lillie to draw;
He screen'd a' the lozens but ane or twa,
And no ane the door durst enter.
The housemaids deck'd themselves in haste,
They crimped their frills, and their corsets they braced,
And their caps wi' pink ribbons most gaudily graced,
To entangle the heart o' the painter.
The likeness o' lovely Miss Lillie to draw;
He screen'd a' the lozens but ane or twa,
And no ane the door durst enter.
The housemaids deck'd themselves in haste,
They crimped their frills, and their corsets they braced,
And their caps wi' pink ribbons most gaudily graced,
To entangle the heart o' the painter.
The painter wroucht, while he sowtht and sang
His sweetest love ditties the hale day lang;
The cook whiles thoucht he wasna that thrang,
Sae to keek through the key-hole did venture.
She saw the canvas stood by to dry,
The brushes and palette unheeded did lie,
While bonnie Miss Lillie, wi' languishing eye,
Sat talkin' 'bout love wi' the painter.
His sweetest love ditties the hale day lang;
The cook whiles thoucht he wasna that thrang,
Sae to keek through the key-hole did venture.
She saw the canvas stood by to dry,
The brushes and palette unheeded did lie,
While bonnie Miss Lillie, wi' languishing eye,
Sat talkin' 'bout love wi' the painter.
184
She ran and tauld the governess a',
And it soon was rehearsed to mamma and papa;
The laird looked sour, and his haffits did claw,
And vow'd she o' that would repent her.
“A fine guffaw to the hale kintra wide,
To hear o' a lady, sae void o' a' pride
As lose a guid tocher, to be a bare bride
To a puir scowrie loun like the painter.”
And it soon was rehearsed to mamma and papa;
The laird looked sour, and his haffits did claw,
And vow'd she o' that would repent her.
“A fine guffaw to the hale kintra wide,
To hear o' a lady, sae void o' a' pride
As lose a guid tocher, to be a bare bride
To a puir scowrie loun like the painter.”
When the painter finish'd his peerless piece
Delight gart the ire o' the laird quickly cease;
Few pencils o' Rome, and few chisels o' Greece,
Sweet nature e'er hit like the painter.
The lady cried, “Eh! we see seldom sic sichts;
'Deed, laird, we maun e'en ha'e a' wrangs put to richts,
For, ye ken, when the king fa's a-dubbing o' knichts,
He wales out clever chields like the painter.”
Delight gart the ire o' the laird quickly cease;
Few pencils o' Rome, and few chisels o' Greece,
Sweet nature e'er hit like the painter.
The lady cried, “Eh! we see seldom sic sichts;
'Deed, laird, we maun e'en ha'e a' wrangs put to richts,
For, ye ken, when the king fa's a-dubbing o' knichts,
He wales out clever chields like the painter.”
The laird he keckled, and rubbed his brow,
Syne at the fine portrait he looked anew;
The lady's word aye he as gospel did view,
Sae langer he didna resent her.
“Weel, weel,” quo' he, “frae the plea I'se withdraw,
The bliss or the bann on your shouthers may fa';
Wi' women 'tis needless to gang to tongue-law:”
So Miss Lily's now tied to the painter.
Syne at the fine portrait he looked anew;
The lady's word aye he as gospel did view,
Sae langer he didna resent her.
“Weel, weel,” quo' he, “frae the plea I'se withdraw,
The bliss or the bann on your shouthers may fa';
Wi' women 'tis needless to gang to tongue-law:”
So Miss Lily's now tied to the painter.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |