Rough Scan


THE king’s young dochter was sitting in her window,
=Sewing at her silken seam;
She lookt out o’ a bow-window,
=And she saw the leaves growing green,
====My luve;
=And she saw the leaves growing green.

She stuck her needle into her sleeve,
=Her seam down by her tae,
And she is awa’ to the merrie greenwood,
=To pu’ the nit and the slae,
====My luve;
=To pu’ the nit and the slae.


Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
=An’ fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink, before I go,
=A service to my bonnie lassie;

The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith;
=Fu’ loud the wind blaws frae the ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick-Law,
=And I maun leave my bonnie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
=The glittering spears are ranked ready;
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
=The battle closes thick and bloody.

It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore
=Wad make me langer wish to tarry;
Nor shout o’ war that’s heard afar—
=It’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary.

=======_Robert Burns_.


"WILL you gang wi’ me, Leezie Lindsay,
=Will ye gang to the Highlands wi’ me?
Will ye gang wi’ me, Leezie Lindsay,
=My bride and my darling to be?"

"To gang to the Highlands wi’ you, sir,
=I dinna ken how that may be;
For I ken nae the land that ye live in,
=Nor ken I the lad I’m gaun wi’."

"O Leezie, lass, ye maun ken little,
=If sae be ye dinna ken me;
For my name is Lord Ronald Macdonald,
=A chieftain o’ high degree."

She has kilted her coats o’ green satin,
=She has kilted them up to the knee,
And she’s aff wi’ Lord Ronald Macdonald,
=His bride and his darling to be.


"WHY weep ye by the tide, ladye?
=Why weep ye by the tide?
I’ll wed ye to my youngest son,
=And ye sall be his bride;
And ye sall be his bride, ladye,
=Sae comely to be seen:"
But aye she loot the tears down fa’
=For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

Now let this wilfu’ grief be done,
=And dry that cheek sae pale;
Young Frank is chief of Errington
=And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha’,
=His sword in battle keen:"
But aye she loot the tears down fa’
=For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

"A chain of gold ye sall not lack,
=Nor braid to bind your hair;
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk,
=Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
And you the foremost o’ them a’
=Shall ride—our forest queen:"
But aye she loot the tears down fa’
=For Jock o’ Hazeldean.

The kirk was deck’d at morning-tide,
=The tapers glimmer’d fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
=And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha’;
=The ladye was not seen:
She’s o’er the border, and awa’
=Wi’ Jock o’ Hazeldean.

=======_Sir Walter Scott_.


THE gypsies cam to our gude lord’s yett,
=And wow but they sang sweetly;
They sang sae sweet and sae very complete,
=That doun cam our fair lady.

And she cam tripping down the stair,
=And all her maids before her;
As sune as they saw her weel-faured face
=They cuist the glamourye ower her.

"O come with me," says Johnie Faa;
="O come with me, my dearie:
For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
=That your lord shall nae mair come near ye!"

Then she gied them the gude wheit breid,
=And they ga’e her the ginger;
But she gied them a far better thing,
=The gowd ring aff her finger.

"Gae tak’ frae me this gay mantill,
=And bring to me a plaidie;
For if kith and kin and a’ had sworn,
=I’ll follow the gipsy laddie.

"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
=Wi’ my gude lord beside me;
This night I’ll lie in a tenant’s barn,
=Whatever shall betide me."

"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa;
="Come to your bed, my dearie:
For I vow and I swear by the hilt o’ my sword,
=That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

"I’ll go to bed to my Johnie Faa;
=I’ll go to bed to my dearie:
For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
=That my lord shall nae mair come near me.

"I’ll mak’ a hap to my Johnie Faa;
=I’ll mak’ a hap to my dearie:
And he’s get a’ the sash gaes round;
=And my lord shall nae mair come near me."

And when our lord cam hame at e’en,
=And speired for his fair lady,
The tane she cried, and the other replied,
="She’s awa’ wi’ the gipsy laddie."

"Gae saddle to me the black black steed;
=Gae saddle and mak him ready:
Before that I either eat or sleep,
=I’ll gae seek my fair lady."

And we were fifteen wed-made men,
=Although we were na bonnie;
And we were a’ put down for ane,
=A fair young wanton lady.


="COME fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
=Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;
=Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,
=And it’s room for the bonnets o’ Bonnie Dundee!"

To the Lords of Convention ‘twas Claver’se who spoke:
"Ere the king’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke;
So let each cavalier who loves honour and me,
Come follow the bonnet o’ Bonnie Dundee."

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street,
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;
But the Provost, douce man. said: "Just e’en let him be,
The guid toun is weel quit of that deil of Dundee."

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow,
Ilk carline was flyting, and shaking her pow;
But the young plants of grace they look’d couthie and slee,
Thinking, "Luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonnie Dundee!"

With sour-featur’d Whigs the Grassmarket was cramm’d,
As if half the West had set tryst to be hang’d;
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e,
As they watch’d for the bonnets o’ Bonnie Dundee!

These Cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears,
And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers;
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free,
At the toss of the bonnet o’ Bonnie Dundee.

He spurr’d to the foot of the proud Castle rock,
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke:
"Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three,
For the love of the bonnet o’ Bonnie Dundee."

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes—
"Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me,
Or that low lies the bonnet o’ Bonnie Dundee.

"There are hills beyond Pentlands, and lands beyond Forth;
If there’s lords in the Lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North;
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three,
Will cry 'Hoigh! for the bonnets o’ Bonnie Dundee.'

"There’s brass on the target of barken’d bull-hide;
There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside:
The brass shall be burnish’d, the steel shall flash free,
At a toss of the bonnet o’ Bonnie Dundee.

"Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks:
Ere I own an usurper, fox; I'll couch with the fox;
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee,
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!"

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clash’d, and the horsemen rode on,
Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee,
Died away the wild war notes o’ Bonnie Dundee.

=Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
=Come saddle the horses, and call out the men;
=Come open your gates and let me gae free,
=For it’s up with the bonnets o’ Bonnie Dundee!"

=======_Sir Walter Scott_.


WALD God I war baith sound and haill
Now liftit into Liddisdaill,
The Mers sould find me beif and kaill;
=What rak of bread?
War I thair liftit, with my lyfe,
The Devill sould stick me with ane knyfe,
And evir I come againe to Fyfe,
=Whyll I war dead.

=======_Sir David Lyndsay_.


THE pawky auld carle cam ower the lea
Wi’ mony good-e’ens and days to me,
Saying, "Gudewife, for your courtesie,
=Will you lodge a silly poor man?"
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down ayont the ingle he sat;
My dochter’s shoulders he ‘gan to clap,
=And cadgily ranted and sang.

"O wow!" quo’ he, "were I as free
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I be!
=And I wad nevir think lang."
He grew canty, and she grew fain,
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir twa togither were say’n
=When wooing they were sa thrang.

"An’ O!" quo’ he, "an’ ye were as black
As e’er the crown of your daddy’s hat,
‘Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
=And awa' wi' me thou sould gang."
"And O!" quo' she, "an' I were as white
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
I'd clead me braw and lady-like,
=And awa' wi' thee I would gang."

Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wilily they shot the lock,
=And fast to the bent are gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servan't bed she gaes,
=To speir for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away;
She clapt her hand, cried "Waladay!
=For some of our gear will be gane."
Some ran to coffers and some to kist,
But nought was stown, that could be mist,
She danced her lane, cried "Praise be blest,
=I have lodg'd a leal poor man.

"Since naething's awa' as we can learn,
The kirn's to kirn and milk to earn;
Gae but the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
=And bid her come quickly ben."
The servant gaed where the cohter lay,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And fast to her goodwife did say,
="She's aff with the gaberlunzie man."

"O fy gar ride and fy gar rin,
And haste ye find these traitors again;
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain,
=The wearifu' gaberlunzie man."
Some rade upo' horse, some ran afit,
The wife was wud, and out of her wit:
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit,
=But ay she curs'd and she bann'd.

Meantime far 'hind out o'er the lea,
Fu' snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa, with kindly sport and glee,
=Cut frae a new cheese a whang:
The priving was gude, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for ay, he ga'e her his aith.
Quo' she, "To leave thee I will be laith,
=My winsome gaberlunzie man.

"O kend my minny I were wi' you,
Ill fardly wad she crook her mou';
Sic a poor man she'd never trow,
=After the gaberlunzie man."
"My dear," quo'he, "ye're yet ower young,
And hae na learn'd the beggar's tongue,
To follow me frae toun to toun,
=And carry the gaberlunzie on.

"Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gently trade indeed,
=The gaberlunzie to carry, O.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout ower my e'e;
A cripple or blind they will ca' me,
=While we sall sing and be merry, O."


GIN I was a sturdy tinker
=Trampin' lang roads an' wide,
An' ye was a beggar hizzie
=Cadgin' the country side;

The meal bags a' your fortune,
=A jinglin' wallet mine,
I wouldna swap for a kingdom
=Ae blink o' my raggit queyn.

The gowd that hings at your lugs, lass,
=I would hammer it for a ring,
Syne, hey for a tinker's waddin'
=An' the lythe dyke-sides o' Spring.

Oh, whiles we would tak' the turnpike
=An' lauch at the Norlan' win',
An' whiles we would try the lown roads
=An' the wee hill-tracks that rin.

Whaur the blue peat reek is curlin'
=An' the mavis whussles rare,
We'd follow the airt we fancied
=Wi' nane that we kent to care.

An' ye would get the white siller
=Spaein' the lasses han's,
An' I would win the brown siller
=Cloutin' the aul' wives' cans.

Whiles wi' a stroop to souder,
=Girdin' at times a cogue;
But aye wi' you at my elbuck
=To haud me content, you rogue.

We'd wash in the rinnin' water,
=An' I would lave your feet,
An' ye would lowse your apron
=An' I would dry them wi't.

I'd gather yows at gloamin'
=An' ye would blaw the fire
Till the lilt o' the singin' kettle
=Gart baith forget the tire.

An' blithe my cutty luntin'
=We'd crack aboot a' we'd seen,
Wi' mony a twa-han' banter
=Aneth the risin' meen.

Syne in some cosy plantin'
=Wi' fern and heather spread,
An' the green birks for rafters
=The lift would roof your bed.

An' when your een grew weary
=Twa stars woudl tine their licht,
An' saftly in my oxter
=I'd faul' ye for the nicht.

Nae cry frae frichtened mawkin
=Snares in the dewy grass,
Nor eerie oolet huntin'
=Would wauken you then, my lass.

An' when the mists were liftin'
=An' the reid sun raise to peep,
Ye would only cuddle the closer
=An' lauch to me in your sleep.

Wi' a' the warl' to wander
=An' the fine things yet to see,
Will you kilt your coats an' follow
=The lang lang road wi' me?

The open lift an' laughter,
=Is there onything mair you lack?
_A wee heid in the bundle_
=_That shouds upon my back_.

=======_Charles Murray_.


HIGHWAYS for eident feet,
=That hae their mile to gae;
But byways when spring is sweet,
=And bloom is on the slae.

Highways till day is dune,
=The girr o' gear to ca';
But byways for star and mune,
=And wooers twa by twa.

Highways for wheel and whip,
=Till rigs are stibblet clear;
But byways for haw and hip,
=When robin's on the brier.

Aye it's on the highways
=The feck o' life maun gang;
But aye it's frae the byways
=Comes hame the happy sang.

=======_Walter Wingate_.