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 |
 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
BAB AT THE BOWSTER. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
80
BAB AT THE BOWSTER.
Lassie, whare were ye yestreen,
Wi' touslet hair and drowsy een?
I trow ye've at the weddin' been,
And danced at “Bab at the Bowster.”
Wi' touslet hair and drowsy een?
I trow ye've at the weddin' been,
And danced at “Bab at the Bowster.”
'Deed I was there, amang them a',
And sic a sicht I never saw
O' lads an lasses, dress'd sae braw,
A' dancin' “Bab at the Bowster.”
And sic a sicht I never saw
O' lads an lasses, dress'd sae braw,
A' dancin' “Bab at the Bowster.”
A' kinds o' dances, jigs, or reels,
Fandangoes, waltzes, or quadrilles,
There's nane can fire our lichtsome heels
Like Scotland's “Bab at the Bowster.”
Fandangoes, waltzes, or quadrilles,
There's nane can fire our lichtsome heels
Like Scotland's “Bab at the Bowster.”
The drowsy waltz but lulls to sleep
As owre the floor we slowly creep,
But joy comes wi' the fiddle's cheep
At the dance o' “Bab at the Bowster.”
As owre the floor we slowly creep,
But joy comes wi' the fiddle's cheep
At the dance o' “Bab at the Bowster.”
'Tis aye the dance that bears the gree
At ony canty social spree;
Baith auld and young aye join wi' glee
To dance blithe “Bab at the Bowster.”
At ony canty social spree;
Baith auld and young aye join wi' glee
To dance blithe “Bab at the Bowster.”
Had ye but seen the miller Hodge,
Wha came to kneel wi' the howdie Madge;
She strak in fun, but seem'd in rage,
To dance at “Bab at the Bowster.”
Wha came to kneel wi' the howdie Madge;
She strak in fun, but seem'd in rage,
To dance at “Bab at the Bowster.”
The carl held, the carlin drew,
Wi' loof upon her wrinkled mou';
Nane witness'd sic a hallabulloo
At the dance o' “Bab at the Bowster.”
Wi' loof upon her wrinkled mou';
Nane witness'd sic a hallabulloo
At the dance o' “Bab at the Bowster.”
The miller tint his wig i' the fray,
The howdie's braw mutch bord gaed 'stray,
And the rosy sun brought in the day,
Ere we ended “Bab at the Bowster.”
The howdie's braw mutch bord gaed 'stray,
And the rosy sun brought in the day,
Ere we ended “Bab at the Bowster.”
Sae ferlie nane whare I ha'e been,
Wi' touslet hair, and drowsy een,
Nae sleep I've got, nor bed ha'e seen,
Since I danced “Bab at the Bowster.”
Wi' touslet hair, and drowsy een,
Nae sleep I've got, nor bed ha'e seen,
Since I danced “Bab at the Bowster.”
81
The fiddle yet rings in my brain,
And want o' sleep's a weary pain,
But I wad thole a' owre again
To get dancin' “Bab at the Bowster.”
And want o' sleep's a weary pain,
But I wad thole a' owre again
To get dancin' “Bab at the Bowster.”
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |