I wyt they are as pretty hose
As come frae weyr or leem:
Here, tak a rug, and show's your pose;
Forseeth, my ain's but teem
And light this day."
Ye wives, as ye gang through the fair,
O mak your bargains hooly!
O' a' thir wylie louns beware,
Or, fegs! they will ye spulzie.
For fernyear Meg Thamson got
Frae thir mischievous villains,
A scaw'd bit o' a penny note,
That lost a score o' shillin's
To her that day.
The dinlin drums alarm our ears;
The serjeant screechs fu' loud,
"A' gentlemen and volunteers
That wish your country gude,
Come here to me, and I sall gie
Twa guineas and a crown;
A bowl o' punch, that, like the sea,
Will soom a lang dragoon
Wi' ease this day."
Without, the cuissers prance and nicker,
And owre the lea-rig scud;
In tents, the carles bend the bicker,
And rant and roar like wud.
Then there's sic yellochin and din,
Wi' wives and wee-anes gabblin',
That ane might trow they were akin
To a' the tongues at Babylon,
Confus'd that day.
When Phoebus ligs in Thetis' lap,
Auld Reekie gies them shelter,
Where cadgily they kiss the cap,
And ca't round helter-skelter,
Jock Bell gaed furth to play his freaks; Great cause he had to rue it;
For frae a stark Lochaber axe
He gat a clamihewit
Fu' sair that night.
"Ohon!" quo' he, "I'd rather be
By sword or bagnet stickit,
Than hae my crown or body wi'
Sic deadly weapon nickit."
Wi' that he gat anither straik
Mair weighty than before,
That gar'd his feckless body ache,
And spew the reekin' gore
Fu' red that night.
He pechin' on the causey lay,
O' kicks and cuffs weel sair'd;
A Highland aith the serjeant gae,
She man pe see our guard.
Out spak the weirlike corporal,
"Pring in ta drucken sot;'
They trail'd him ben, and, by my saul, He paid his drucken groat
Gude fouk! as ye come frae the fair,
Bide yont frae this black squad;
There's nae sic savages elsewhere
Allow'd to wear cockade.
Than the strong lion's hungry maw
Or tusk o' Russian bear,
Frae their wanruly fellin' paw
Mair cause ye hae to fear
Your death that day.
A wee soup drink does unco weel,
To haud the heart aboon;
It's gude, as lang's a canny chiel'
Can stand steeve in his shoon.
But if a birkie's owre weel sair'd,
It gars him aften stammer
To pleys that bring him to the Guard,
And eke the Council Chaumer,
Wi' shame that day.
TUNE-"Fy let us a' to the Bridal."
THERE'S fouth o' braw Jockies and Jennies
Comes weel-busket into the fair,
With ribbons on their cockernonies,
And fouth o' fine flour on their hair.
Maggie, she was sae weel-buskit,
That Willie was ty'd to his bride;
The pownie was ne'er better whiskit
Wi' cudgel that hung frae his side.
Sing farrel, etc.
But Maggie was wondrous jealous.
To see Willie buskit sae braw:
And Sawny he sat in the alehouse
And hard at the liquor did ca'.
There was Geordie that weel loo'd his lassie,
He took the pint stoup in his arms,
He hugg'd it, and said, Trouth, they're saucy
That loo's na a gude faither's bairn.
Sing farrel, etc.
*This is a second and perhaps later effusion under the title, and treating of the subject of "Hallowfair," and this time fitted to a popular tune, for the purpose of singing although, withal, the lines are not so felicitous as those of the poem which it follows. It appears in no edition of Fergusson previous to 1851. Stenhouse, in his notes to Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, notwithstanding, assigned it positively to Fergusson, on the authority (it is understood), of David Herd, who died as late as 1810. It was first printed in Herd's collection of Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs and Ballads, published in 1776. In the Museum it is adapted to an old tune called " Wally Honey," taken from Oswald's Caledonian Pocket Companion.
There was Wattie the muirland laddie,
That rides on the bonny grey cowt,
With sword by his side like a cadie,
To drive in the sheep and the nowt.
His doublet sae weel it did fit him,
It scarcely cam' doun to mid-thie,
With hair pouther'd, hat, and a feather,
And hausing at curpan and tee.
Sing farrel, etc.
But Bruckie play'd boo to Bausie,
And aff scour'd the cowt like the win';
Puir Wattie, he fell on the causie,
And birzed a' the banes in his skin.
His pistols fell out o' the houlsters,
And were a' bedaubed wi' dirt;
The folk they cam' round him in clusters,
Some leuch, and cry'd, Lad, was you hurt?
Sing farrel, etc.
But the cowt wad let naebody steer him,
He was aye sae wanton and skeigh;
The packmen's stands he o'erturn'd them,
And gar'd a' the Jocks stand abeigh
Wi' sniring behind and before him,
For sic is the metal o' brutes.
Puir Wattie, and wae's me for him,
Was fain to gang him in his boots.
Sing farrel, etc.
Now, it was late in the ev'ning,
And boughting-time was drawing near, The lasses had stench'd their griening Wi' fouth o' braw apples and beer. There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie, And Ceicy on the spinnel could spin, Stood glow'ring at signs and glass winnocks, But deil a ane bade them come in.
God guide's! saw ye ever the like o't?
See, yonder's a bonny black swan;
It glow'rs as't wad fain be at us:
What's yon that it hauds in its hands? Awa', daft gowk, cries Wattie,
They're a' but a rickle o' sticks;
See, there is Bill, Jock, and auld Hackie, And yonder's Mess John and auld Nick. Sing farrel, etc.
Quoth Maggie, come buy us our fairing:
And Wattie right sleely could tell,
I think thou'rt the flower o' the clachan,
In truth, now, I'se gie ye mysel'.
But wha wad e'er thought it o' him,
That e'er he had rippled the lint?
Sae proud was he o' his Maggie
Though she did baith scalie and squint.
Sing farrel, etc.
HERDS! blythesome tune your canty reeds,
And welcome to the gowany meads
The pride o' a' the insect thrang,
A stranger to the green sae lang.
Unfauld ilk buss, and ilka brier,
The bounties o' the gleesome year,
To him whase voice delights the spring;
Whase soughs the saftest slumbers bring.
The trees in simmer cleedin' drest,
The hillocks in their greenest vest,
The brawest flowers rejoic'd we see
Disclose their sweets, and ca' on thee,
Blythely to skim on wanton wing
Through a' the fairy haunts o' Spring.
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