The Enlightenment Songster
A collection of 18th century songs,
with some of later date,
each to its own proper tune.
Compiled for
The Eighteenth Century Scottish Studies Society
by
William Donaldson and Ruth Perry
2009
CONTENTS
Amelia Earhart
Auld Lang Syne
Balm in Gilead
Big Kilmarnock Bonnet
Blow the Candles Out
Calton Weaver
Campbeltown Loch
Chevaliers du table ronde
Coulter’s Candy
Dowie Dens o’ Yarrow
Drumdelgie
Farewell to Tarwathie
Four Pence a Day
Freedom Come All Ye
Get Up and Bar the Door
Gin I were where the Gadie rins
Glenlogie
Goodnight and joy be wi’ you a’
Hey, ca’ thro’
Husband, Husband, Cease your Strife
If You will Mairry Me
I know where I’m going
Jamie Raeburn’s Farewell
Jenny’s Bawbee
Johnny Cope
Logie o’ Buchan
MacPherson’s Rant
Maggie Lauder
Mairi’s Wedding
Mary Hamilton
McGinty’s Meal and Ale
Mingulay Boat Song
Mormond Braes
No more fish no fishermen
Oh brother Sandy hear ye the news?
Pair o’ Nicky Tams
Pretty Flowers
Puir auld woman
Roll Alabama roll
Rolling home across the sea
Roseanna
2
2
2
3
3
3-4
4
4
4
4-5
5-6
6
6
6
6-7
7
7-8
8
8
8
8-9
9
9
9-10
10
10-11
11
11
11
11-12
12-13
13
13
13-14
14
14-15
15
15
15-16
16
16
Strangest dream
Surrounded by water
The Barnyards o’ Delgaty
The Birks of Abergeldie
The Bleacher Lassie o’ Kelvinhall
The Bonnie Earl o’ Moray
The Bonnie Lass o’ Fyvie
The Broom of the Cowdenknowes
The Crocodile
The D-Day Dodgers
The Day We Went to Rothesay, O
The Gallant Forty-Twa
The Highland Division’s
farewell to Sicily
The Jute Mill Song
The Laird o’ Cockpen
The Lass o’ Patie’s Mill
The Lum Hat Wantin’ the Croon
The road and the miles to Dundee
The sons of the Prophet
were hardy and bold
The Soor Mulk Cairt
The Star o’ Rabbie Burns
The Twa Corbies
The Wee Magic Stane
The Work o’ the Weavers
The Yellow Haired Laddie
Three Craws sat upon a Wa’
To the Begging I will Go
Tramps and Hawkers
Tullochgorm
Twa Recruiting Sergeants
Waltzing Matilda
Waly, Waly, up the Bank
Wee Toun Clerk
Will Ye No Come Back Again?
Willie Brew’d a Peck o’ Maut
Willie’s gane to Melville Castle
Ye canna shove your granny aff a bus
Ye’ll no sit here
1
16
16-17
17
17
17
17-18
18
18-19
19-20
20
20
20-21
21
21
21-22
22
22
22-23
23
23-24
24
24
24-25
25
25
25-26
26
26-27
27
27-28
28
28
28-29
29
29
29-30
30
30
The birdies frae the Arn tree, wha mixt their notes
wi’ mine,
Were not mair blyth, nor fu’ o’ glee whan we did
lang syne.
Amelia Earhart
A ship out on the ocean, just a speck against the
sky
Amelia Earhart’s flying sad that day;
With her partner Captain Noonan on the second of
July
Her plane fell in the ocean far away.
I think upo’ the bonny springs, ye used to me to
play;
And how we used to dance and sing, the live-lang
simmer day.
Nae fairies on the haunted green, where
moonbeams twinkling shine,
Mair blythly frisked around their Queen, than we
did lang syne.
There’s a beautiful beautiful field
Far away in a land that is fair;
Happy landings to you Amelia Earhart,
Farewell first lady of the air.
She radioed position and said that all was well,
Although the fuel within her tank was low;
But she’d land on Howland island and re-fuel her
monoplane
And then around the world again she’d go.
What tho’ I be some aulder grown, and ablins not
so gay;
What tho’ my locks o’ hazel brown be now well
mixed wi’ grey;
I’m sure my heart’s nae caulder grown, but as my
years decline,
Still friendship’s flame mair kindly glows than it
did lang syne.
Well half an hour later her SOS was heard,
Her signal weak but still her voice was brave;
Over shark infested waters her plane went down
that
night
In the blue Pacific to a watery grave.
Tho’ ye live on the banks of Don, and I beneath the
Tay,
Well might ye ride to Falkland’s Town Some
bonny simmer’s day.
And in that place where Scotland’s Kings aft birl’d
baith Beer and Wine
Let’s meet, an’ laugh, an’ dance, an’ sing, And
crack of lang syne.
And now you’ve heard my story of the awful
tragedy
We wish that she might fly home safe again;
But in the years to come though others blaze a trail
across the sky
We’ll ne’er forget Amelia and her plane.
Auld Lang Syne (standard version)
There’s a beautiful beautiful field, etc.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
Auld Lang Syne (text attributed to Mrs. Brown
of Falkland)
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Or friendship
ere grow cauld;
Should we noo tighter draw the knot; aye, as we’re
growing auld?
How comes it then, my worthy friend, wha used to
be sae kind?
We dinna for each other speer, as we did lang
syne?
For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
Balm in Gilead
Sometimes I feel discouraged
And think my work’s in vain;
But then the Holy spirit
Revives my soul again.
Tho many a day be past and gane, sin’ we did ither
see;
Yet gin the heart be still the same, it matters not a
flee.
Gin ye hae not forgot the art to sound your harp
divine,
Ye’ll find still I can bear my part and sing as lang
syne.
There is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded
whole,
There is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick
soul.
If you can pray like Peter
If you can preach like Paul
Go out and tell your neighbor
He died to save us all.
There is a balm, etc.
I think upon the mony days when I, in youthfu’
pride,
Wi’ you aft rambled o’er the braes on bonny Bogie
side.
2
I knocked upon her window to ease her of her pain,
She rose up to let me in, then barred the door again.
Big Kilmarnock Bonnet
Whan I was aff to leave the ploo says I to Fairmer
Broon
‘The money that you are owin’ tae me will you
kindly lay it doon
This very day I mean to be in Glesca toon by half
past three
I’ll bide nae mair a gackie in the country.’
I like well your behavior and this I often say
I cannot rest contented when I am far away
I cannot rest contented without a fear or doubt
So roll me in your arms, Love, and blow the
candles out.
Your father and your mother in yonder room do lie
A-hugging one another, so why not you and I?
A-hugging one another, without a fear or doubt
So roll me in your arms, Love, and blow the
candles out.
Wi’ ma big Kilmarnock Bonnet as I ran to catch
the train
I’ll never forget the trick that was played on me by
Sandy Laing
Says he ‘mind Jock when ye get tae the toon speir
ye for Katie Bain, ma loon,
She bides at number eichty street in Glesca.’
And if we prove successful, Love, please name it
after me
Treat it neat and kiss it sweet and doff it on your
knee;
When my three years are over, my time it will be
out
I’ll double my indebtedness by blowing the candles
out.
Now, when I got to Glesca toon the first young
man I met
I speired at him quite civilly, ‘can ye show me
eichty street?’
Wi’ that he bangs me on the lug says he ‘Dae ye
tak me for a mug?
I say young man ye’ll meet yer match in Glesca.’
Wi’ ma big Kilmarnock Bonnet, etc.
Calton Weaver
I am a weaver, a Calton weaver,
I am a brisk and a roving blade;
I have silver in my pouches,
And I follow a roving trade.
I met a bonny lassie then dressed in a strippet
frock;
She said tae me right cheerily, ‘Hello is that you,
Jock?
Yer big Kilmarnock’s aff the plumb come on and
staun’s a donal o’ rum,
Hoo lang do you intend to bide in Glesca?’
Wi’ ma big Kilmarnock Bonnet, etc.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky
Whisky, whisky, Nancy O.
As I walked into Glasgow city,
Nancy Whisky I chanced to smell;
I walked in, sat down beside her
Seven long years I loved her well.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
Now the lassie in the strippet frock and her
neighbour Katie Bain
As long as I live I never do hope to see the pair
again;
They left me wi’ ma breeks and shirt, my big
Kilmarnock covered wi’ dirt
Through rowin’ in the muckle streets o’ Glesca.
Wi’ ma big Kilmarnock Bonnet, etc.
The more I kissed her, the more I loved her,
The more I kissed her, the more she smiled;
I forgot my mother's teaching,
Nancy soon had me beguiled.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
But that’s nae a’ my story, for I’ve mair to tell
beside.
The nicht bein’ dark and me bein’ fou, I fell intae
the Clyde;
They hauled me oot, they ran me in, they swore
they saw me loupin’ in,
And I finished up wi’ thirty days in Glesca.
Wi’ ma big Kilmarnock Bonnet, etc.
Blow the Candles Out
I woke early in the mornin’,
Tae slake ma drouth it was my need;
I tried to rise but was not able
Nancy had me by the heid.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
Come landlady, noo, what’s that lawin’?
Tell me what there is tae pay.
‘Fifteen shillings is the reck’ning;
Noo pay me quick and on your way.’
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
When I was apprenticed in London, I went to see
my dear;
The roads they were all muddy, the moon shone
bright and clear.
I’ll gang back to the Calton weaving
I’ll surely mak those shuttles fly;
I’ll make more at the Calton weaving
3
Than ever I did in a roving way.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
Dans une cave où il y a du bon vin. (2x)
Dans une cave oui oui oui,
Dans une cave non non non,
Dans une cave où il y a du bon vin. (2x)
So come all ye weavers, ye Calton weavers
Weavers a’ where e’re ye be;
Beware of Whisky, Nancy Whisky
She’ll ruin you like she ruined me.
Whisky, whisky, Nancy whisky, etc.
Les deux pieds contre la muraille
Et la tête sous le robinet. (2x)
Et la tête oui oui oui,
Et la tête non non non,
Et la tête sous le robinet. (2x)
Campbeltown Loch I wish you were
Whisky
Sur ma tombe je veux qu'on inscrive:
‘Ici gît la reine des buveurs’. (2x)
Ici gît, oui oui oui,
Ici gît, non non non,
Ici gît la reine des buveurs.’ (2x)
Oh! Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were whisky!
Campbeltown Loch, och aye!
Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were whisky!
I would drink you dry.
Now Campbeltown Loch is a beautiful place,
But the price of the whisky is grim;
How nice it would be if the whisky was free
And the loch was filled up to the brim.
Oh! Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were whisky!
etc.
Coulter’s Candy
Ally bally ally bally bee
Sittin’ on your mammy’s knee,
Greetin’ for a wee bawbee
To buy some Coulter’s candy.
Ally bally ally bally bee,
When you grow up you’ll gang to sea;
To get some pennies for your daddy and me
To buy some Coulter’s candy.
I’d buy a yacht with the money I got
And I’d anchor it out in the bay;
If I wanted a nip I’d go in for a dip
I’d be swimmin’ by night and by day.
Oh! Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were
whisky! etc.
Mammy gie’s ma bankie doon,
Here’s auld Coulter comin’ roon’
Wi’ a basket on his croon
Filled with Coulter’s candy.
But what if the boat should overturn
And drowned in the loch was I?
You’d hear me shout, you would hear me call out
‘What a wonderful way to die!’
Oh! Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were
whisky! etc.
Oor wee Jeannie’s lookin’ awfu’ thin,
Jist a rickle o’ banes covered o’er with skin;
But soon she’ll be getting’ a wee double chin
From soukin’ Coulter's candy.
But what’s this I see, ochone for me
It’s a vision to make your blood freeze:
It’s the polis afloat in a dirty big boat
And they’re shouting: ‘Time, gentlemen, please!’
Oh! Campbeltown Loch, I wish ye were
whisky! etc.
Here’s a penny my bonny wee man
Doon the road as fast as ye can;
Gie up your money at Coulter’s stand
For a poke o’ Coulter's candy.
Livin’s afa’ hard the noo,
Faither’s signin’ on the broo;
But he’s got a penny for you
Tae buy some Coulter’s candy.
Chevaliers de la table ronde
Chevaliers de la table ronde,
Goûtons voir si le vin est bon. (2x)
Goûtons voir, oui oui oui,
Goûtons voir, non non non,
Goûtons voir si le vin est bon. (2x)
Go to sleep my bonny wee lamb,
It’s seven o’clock and your playing’s done;
But when you rise with the morning sun
You’ll get mair Coulter’s candy.
S’il est bon, s’il est agréable,
J’en boirai jusqu`à mon plaisir (2x)
J’en boirai oui oui oui,
J’en boirai, non non non,
J’en boirai jusqu`'à mon plaisir. (2x)
Dowie Dens o’ Yarrow
There was a lady in the North
I never saw her marrow;
She was courted by nine gentlemen
And a ploughboy lad frae Yarrow.
Si je meurs, je veux qu’on m’enterre
4
It’s there to corn oor horses,
Likewise tae straik their hair.
These nine sat drinking at the wine
Sat drinking wine in Yarrow;
And they made a vow among them all
To fecht wi; him on Yarrow.
Syne, efter workin’ half-an-hour,
Each tae the kitchie goes,
It’s there tae get oor breakfast
Which generally is brose.
She’s washed his face and kaimed his hair
As she has done afore-o;
And she made him like a knicht sae braw
To fecht for her on Yarrow.
We’ve scarcely got oor brose weel supped,
An gien oor pints a tie,
When the foreman cries, ‘Hello, my lads!
The hour is drawin’ nigh,’
As he went walking tae his home
Down by the houms o’ Yarrow,
It was there he spied nine gentlemen
Come to fecht wi' him on Yarrow.
At sax o’clock the mull’s put on,
To gie us a’ stracht wark;
An’ sax o’ us we mak’ tae her,
Till ye could ring oor sark.
Oh three he slew and three they flew
And three he wounded sairly;
Till her brother John came in beyond
And murdered him maist foully.
An when the water is put aff,
We hurry doon the stair,
Tae get some quarters through the fan
Till daylicht does appear.
Oh faither dear I dreamed a dream
A dream o’ doom and sorrow
For I dreamed I was pullin’ heather bells
On the dowie dens o’ Yarrow.
When daylicht does begin tae peep,
An’ the sky begins tae clear,
The foreman cries ‘Hello, my lads!
Ye’ll bide nae langer here!’
Oh dochter dear I read your dream
I know it will bring sorrow;
For your ain true love lies pale and wan
On the dowie dens o’ Yarrow.
There’s sax o’ ye’ll gang tae the ploo,
An twa will drive the neeps,
And the owsen they’ll be efter you
Wi strae raips roon their queets.
As she gaed up yon high high hills
Down by the houms o’ Yarrow;
It was there she saw her ain true love
Lyin’ pale and wan on Yarrow.
But when that we were gyangin’ oot,
An’ turnin’ oot tae yoke,
The snaw dang on sae thick an’ fast
That we were like tae choke.
This lady’s hair was three-quarters long
The color it was yellow;
And she’s tied it round his middle small
And she’s borne him down from Yarrow.
The frost it was sae very hard,
The ploo she wadna go;
An’ sae oor cairtin’ days commenced
Amang the frost an snaw.
Oh faither dear you’ve seven sons
Ye may wed them a’ tomorrow;
But the fairest flower among them all
Is the ploughboy lad frae Yarrow.
Our horses bein’ but young and sma’
The shafts they wadna fill;
An’ aft required the saddler’s aid
To draw them up the hill.
Drumdelgie
There’s a fairm toon up in Cairnie,
That’s kent baith far an wide,
Tae be the great Drumdelgie
Upon sweet Deveronside.
But we will sing oor horses’ praise,
Though they be young an’ sma,
They far ootshine the Broadland’s anes,
That gang sae big an’ braw.
The fairmer o’ yon muckle toon
He is baith hard an sair,
An the cauldest day that ever blaws,
His servants get their share.
Sae fare ye weel, Drumdelgie,
For I maun gang awa;
Sae fare ye weel Drumdelgie,
Yer weety weather an’ a.
At five o’clock we quickly rise
An hurry doon the stair;
Sae fare ye weel, Drumdelgie,
I bid ye a’ adieu;
5
I leave ye as I got ye A damned unceevil crew!
My mother rises out of bed with tears on her
cheeks,
Puts my wallet on my shoulders, which has to serve
a week;
It often fills her great big heart when she unto me
does say,
‘I never thought you would have to work for four
pence a day.’
Farewell to Tarwathie
Farewell to Tarwathie, adieu Mormond Hill
And the dear land of Crimond, I bid you farewell;
I’m bound out for Greenland and ready to sail,
In hopes to find riches in hunting the whale
Fourpence a day, me lads, and very hard to work,
And never a pleasant look from a gruffy looking
Turk;
His conscience it may fall and his heart it may give
way,
Then he’ll raise our wages to nine pence a day.
Farewell to my comrades, for a while we must part,
And likewise the dear lass who first won my heart;
he cold coast of Greenland my love will not chill
And the longer my absence, more loving she’ll
feel.
Our ship is well rigged and she’s ready to sail,
The crew they are anxious to follow the whale;
Where the icebergs do fall and the stormy winds
blow
Where the land and the ocean is covered with
snow.
Freedom Come All Ye
Roch the wind in the clear day dawin’,
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie o’er the bay;
But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin’
Through the great glen o’ the warld the day.
It’s a thocht that would gar oor rottans,
A’ thae rogues that gang gallus, fresh and gay;
Tak’ the road tae seek ither loanins
For their ill ploys tae sport and play
The cold coast of Greenland is barren and bare,
No seed-time nor harvest is ever known there;
And the birds here sing sweetly in mountain and
dale
But there’s no bird in Greenland to sing to the
whale.
Nae mair will the bonnie callants
Mairch tae war when oor braggarts croosely craw
Nor wee weans frae pitheid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin’ doon the Broomielaw
Broken faimlies in lands we’ve herriet,
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair;
Black and white, ane til ither marriet,
Mak the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare.
There is no habitation for a man to live there,
And the king of that country is the fierce Greenland
bear;
And there’ll be no temptation to tarry long there
With our ship bumper full we will homeward
repair.
So come all ye at hame wi' Freedom,
Never heed whit the hoodies croak for doom,
In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Adam
Can find breid, barley-bree and painted room.
When MacLean meets wi’s freens in Springburn
A’ the roses and geans will turn tae bloom,
And a black boy frae yont Nyanga
Dings the fell gallows o’ the burghers doon.
Four Pence a Day
The ore is waiting in the tubs the snow’s upon the
fell,
Canny folk are sleeping yet but lead is reet to sell;
Come me little washer lad come let’s away;
We’re bound down to slavery for four pence a day.
It’s early in the morning we rise at five o’clock,
And the little slaves come to the door to knock,
knock, knock;
Come me little washer lad, come let’s away,
It’s very hard to work for four pence a day.
Get up and bar the door
It fell about the Martinmas,
And a gey time it was than o,
When our gudewife had puddins to mak’,
And she boil’d them in the pan o.
My father was a miner and lived down in the town,
’Twas hard work and poverty that always kept him
down;
He aimed for me to go to school, but brass he could
not pay,
So I had to go to the washing rake for four pence a
day.
The barrin’ o’ our door weel, weel, weel,
And the barrin’ o’ our door weel.
The wind blew cauld fae south to north,
It blew across the floor o;
Says our gudeman to our gudewife:
‘Get up and bar the door o.’
The barrin’, etc.
6
Oh, gin I were where the Gadie rins,
At the back o’ Benachie.
‘My hand is at my huswife-skep,
Gudeman, as ye may see o;
If it shouldna be barr’d this hunner year,
It winna be barr’d by me o.’
The barrin’, etc.
I never had but twa richt lads,
But twa richt lads, but twa richt lads;
I never had but twa richt lads
That cam’ and courtit me.
They made a paction ’tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure o,
The first that spak’ the foremost word
Should rise and bar the door o.
The barrin’, etc.
And the tane was killed at the Lourin Fair,
At the Lourin Fair, at the Lourin Fair;
Oh, the tane was killed at the Lourin Fair
And the tither was drooned in the Dee.
They bocht tae me a braw new goon,
A braw new goon, a braw new goon;
They bocht for me a braw new goon,
And ribbons tae busk it wi’.
Then by there came twa gentlemen
At twelve o’clock at nicht o;
That could neither see house nor ha’,
Nor coal nor candle-licht o.
The barrin’, etc.
I bocht tae them the linnen fine,
The linnen fine, the linnen fine;
I bocht tae them the linnen fine
Their windin’ sheet tae be.
‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house
Or whether is this a puir o?’
But ne’er a word wad either speak,
For the barrin’ o’ the door o.
The barrin’, etc.
It’s noo this twice I’ve been a bride,
I’ve been a bride, I’ve been a bride;
It’s noo this twice I’ve been a bride,
But a wife I’ll never be.
And first they ate the white puddins,
And syne they ate the black o;
And muckle thocht our gudewife to hersell,
But never a word she spak’ o.
The barrin’, etc.
Oh, gin I were where the Gadie rins,
Where the Gadie rins, where the Gadie rins;
Oh, gin I were where the Gadie rins,
At the back o’ Benachie.
Then said the tane unto the tiher:
‘Hey, man, take ye my knife o;
Do ye tak’ aff the auld man’s beard,
While I kiss the gudewife o.’
The barrin’, etc.
Bonnie Glenlogie and Jean o’ Bethelnie
Nine and nine horsemen rode through Banchory
Fair
And Bonnie Glenlogie was the floor o’ a there
[repeat}
‘But there’s nae water in the house,
And what shall we do than o?’
‘What ails ye at the puddin’ bree
That boils into the pan o?’
The barrin’, etc.
Nine and nine ladies sat in the Queen’s Dine
And Bonnie Jeanie o’ Bethelnie was the floor o’
twice nine [repeat]
O up then startit our gudeman,
And an angry man was he o:
Wad ye kiss my wife before my face,
And scaud me wi’ puddin’ bree o?’
The barrin’, etc.
She’s called her foot boy, who stood by her side
‘O who is that horseman and where does he bide?’
[repeat}
‘His name is Glenlogie when he is at hame
He’s o’ the noble Gordons and his name is Lord
John’ [repeat]
Then up and startit our gudewife
Gied three skips on the floor o:
‘Gudeman, ye spak the foremost word,
Get up and bar the door o.’
The barrin’, etc.
‘Glenlogie, Glenlogie, if you should prove kind
A maiden’s love is on you, shall she die in her
prime?’ [repeat]
He turned about lichtly, as Gordons dae a
‘I thank you Lady Jean; I am promised awa’
[repeat]
Oh, Gin I were where the Gadie Rins
Oh, gin I were where the Gadie rins,
Where the Gadie rins, where the Gadie rins;
7
She’s called her father’s chaplain, a man of great
skill
He’s written a letter, and indited it weel [repeat]
Tho’ I am your wedded wife,
Yet I am not your slave, sir.’
‘One of two must still obey,
Nancy, Nancy!
Is it Man or Woman, say,
My spouse Nancy?’
The first word that Glenlogie read, loud, loud
laughed he
The next word that Glenlogie read, the tear blinded
his ee [repeat]
‘If ‘tis still the lordly word,
Service and obedience,
I’ll desert my sov’reign lord,
And so goodbye, allegiance!’
‘Go saddle my black horse and bring him to the
green’
But e’re they had it ready, he was twal mile on his
lean [repeat]
Pale and wan was she when Glenlogie gaed ben
But reid and rosy grew she, when she saw it was
him
‘Sad will I be so bereft,
Nancy, Nancy!
Yet I’ll try to mak’ a shift,
My spouse Nancy!’
(As sung by Angus Ross (b. Dundee, 1928) on 12
May 2007
Corrected: 4 Sept. 2007
Vancouver, BC
29 April 2009
‘My poor heart, then brak it must,
My last hour I’m near it:
And when you lay me in the dust,
Think, think how will you bear it!’
‘I will hope and trust in Heaven,
Nancy, Nancy!
Strength to bear it will be given,
My spouse Nancy.’
Good Night and joy be wi’ you a’
This night is my departing night,
The morn’s the day I maun awa’;
There’s nae a friend or fae o’ mine,
But wishes that I were awa;
What I had done for lack o’ wit
I never never can reca’;
I trust ye’re a’ my friends as yet,
Good night and joy be wi’ ye a’.
‘Well, sir, from the silent dead,
Still I’ll try to daunt you:
Ever round your midnight bed
Horrid sprites shall haunt you!’
‘I’ll wed another like my dear,
Nancy, Nancy!
Then all Hell will fly for fear,
My spouse Nancy!’
Hey, ca’ thro’
Up wi’ the carls o’ Dysart,
And the lads o’ Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o’ Largo,
And the lasses o’ Leven.
Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’,
For we hae muckle ado.
If you will mairry me
Oh, I’ll gie ye a packet o’ pins,
For that’s the way that love begins,
If ye will mairry, airry-airry-airry,
Ye will mairry me.
We hae tales to tell,
An’ we hae sangs to sing;
We hae pennies tae spend,
An’ we hae pints to bring.
Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’, etc.
Oh, I’ll nae tak’ yer packet o’ pins,
That’s nae the way that love begins,
An’ I’ll nae mairry, airry-airry-airry,
I’ll nae mairry you.
We’ll live a’ our days,
And them that comes ahin,
Let them dae the like,
An’ spend the gear they win.
Hey, ca’ thro’, ca’ thro’, etc
Oh, I’ll gie ye a dress o’ red,
Stitched a’ roon wi’ a silver threid,
If ye will mairry, airry-airry-airry,
Ye will mairry me.
Oh I’ll nae tak’ your dress o’ red,
Stitched a’ roon wi’ a silver threid,
An’ I’ll nae mairry, airry-airry-airry,
I’ll nae mairry you.
Husband husband cease your strife
‘Husband, husband, cease your strife,
Nor longer idly rave, sir!
8
We were wakened by the turnkey, who unto us did
say:
‘Arise, ye hapless convicts, arise ye, ane and a’,
This is the day ye are to stray from Caledonia.’
Oh I’ll gie ye a silver spoon,
Tae feed the bairn in the aifternoon,
If ye will mairry, airry-airry-airry,
Ye will mairry me.
We a’ arose, put on our clothes, our hairts were fu’
o’ grief,
Our friends wha stood around the coach, could
grant us no relief,
Our parents, wives and sweethearts dear, their
hairts were broke in twa,
To see us leave the bonnie braes o’ Caledonia.
Oh I’ll nae tak’ yer silver spoon,
Tae feed the bairn in the aifternoon,
An’ I’ll nae mairry, airry-airry-airry,
I’ll nae mairry you.
Oh I’ll gie ye the keys o’ the chest,
And a’ the money that I possess,
If ye will mairry, airry-airry-airry,
Ye will mairry me.
Fareweel, my aged mither, I’m vexed for what I’ve
done,
I hope none will cast up to you the race that I have
run;
I hope God will protect you when I am far awa’,
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales o’ Caledonia.
Oh I will tak the keys o’ the chest,
And a’ the money that ye posses,
And I will mairry, airry-airry-airry,
I will mairry you.
Fareweel, my honest father, ye were the best o’
men,
And likewise my ain sweetheart, it’s Catherine is
her name,
Nae mair we’ll walk by Clyde’s clear stream or by
the Broomielaw,
For I must leave the hills and dales o’ Caledonia.
Ha, ha, ha, yer helluva funny,
Ye dinna love me but ye love my money,
An’ I’ll nae mairry, airry-airry-airry,
I’ll nae mairry you.
I Know Where I’m Goin’
I know where I’m goin’ and I know who’s goin’
with me;
I know who I love and my dear knows who I'll
marry.
My name is Jamie Raeburn, in Glasgow I was born,
My place and habitation I’m forced to leave with
scorn;
Frae my place and habitation I now must gang
awa’,
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales o’ Caledonia.
I have stockings of silk and shoes of bright green
leather,
Combs to buckle my hair and a ring for every
finger.
Jenny’s Bawbee
O, feather beds are soft and painted rooms are
bonnie,
But I would give them all for my handsome
winsome Johnny.
I met four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi’ hingin’ lugs and faces lang,
I speered at neighbour Bauldy Strang,
O what could it be?
Quo’ he, ‘each whey-faced pawky chiel,
Thought he was clever as the deil,
Whan he cam here awa to steal
Jenny’s Bawbee.
Some say that he’s black, but I say that he's bonnie;
Fairest of them all is my handsome winsome
Johnny.
I know where I’m goin' and I know who’s goin’
with me,
I know who I love and my dear knows who I’ll
marry.
The first, a captain to his trade,
Wi’ skull ill-lined, and back weel clad,
Marched round the barn and by the shed,
And papped on his knee;
Quo’ he, ‘my goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty’s dazzled baith my een.
But deil a beauty had he seen
But Jenny’s Bawbee.
Jamie Raeburn’s Farewell
My name is Jamie Raeburn, in Glasgow I was born,
My place and habitation I’m forced to leave with
scorn;
Frae my place and habitation I now must gang awa’
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales o’ Caledonia.
A Norlan laird neist trotted up,
Wi’ bawsen’d nag and siller whup,
Cries, ‘there’s my beast lad, haud the grup,
Or tie him to a tree,—
What’s gowd to me? I’ve walth o’ lan’,
It was early one morning just at the break of day,
9
Bestow on ane o’ worth your han’,
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi’ Jenny’s Bawbee.
Come, let us try baith fire and sword,
And dinna flee like a frichted bird,
That’s chased frae its nest I’ the morning.’
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
A Lawyer neist wi’ blethering gab,
Wi’ speeches wove like ony wab,
In ilk ane’s corn he took a dab,
And a’ for a fee;
Accounts he ow’d through a’ the town,
But tradesmen’s tongues nae mair could drown,
Haith now he thought to clout his gown
Wi’ Jenny’s Bawbee.
When Johnny Cope he heard o’ this,
He thocht it wadna be amiss,
Tae hae a horse in readiness,
For tae flee awa in the morning.
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
Fye now, Johnny, get up an’ rin,
The Highland bagpipes mak’ a din,
It’s best tae sleep in a hale skin,
For it will be a bluidie morning.
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
Then spruce, frae ban-boxes and tubs,
The fop came neist, but life has rubs;
Foul were the roads, and fu’ the dubs,
Ah! wae’s me;
A’ clatty, squintin’ though a glass,
He girned ‘I’ faith, a bonny lass,’
He thought to win wi’ front o’ brass
Jenny’s Bawbee.
When Johnny Cope tae Dunbar cam,
They speired at him, ‘Whaur’s a’ your men?’
‘The de’il confound me gin I ken,
For I left them a’ in the morning.’
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
She bade the Laird gang kame his wig,
The Sodger no to strut sae big,
The lawyer no to be a prig;
The Fool cried ‘Tee-hee.
I kent that I could never fail,’
She prin’d the dishclout till his tail,
And cool’d him wi’ a water pail,
And kept her Bawbee.
Now Johnny, troth ye werena blate,
Tae leave your men in sic a strait,
And come wi’ news o’ your ain defeat,
Sae early in the morning.
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
Then Johnny came, a lad o’ sense,
Although he had na mony pence,
He took young Jenny to the spence,
Wi’ her to crack a-wee;
Now Johnny was a clever chiel,
And there his suit he pressed sae weel,
That Jenny’s heart grew saft as jeel,
And she birl’d her bawbee.
‘I’ faith,’ quo Johnny, ‘I got sic flegs
Wi’ their claymores an’ philabegs,
Gin I face them again, de’il brak my legs,
So I wish you a’ good morning.’
Hey! Johnny Cope, etc.
Logie o’ Buchan
Oh, Logie o’ Buchan, O Logie the laird,
They hae taen awa’ Jamie, that delved in the yaird,
Wha played on the pipe, and the viol sae sma’,
They hae taen awa’ Jamie, the flower o’ them a.
He said ‘Think na lang lassie, tho’ I gang awa’,
An’ I’ll come an see ye in spite o’ them a’.’
Johnny Cope
Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar,
Sayin ‘Charlie meet me an’ ye daur;
An’ I’ll learn ye the art o’ war,
If ye’ll meet me in the morning.’
Tho’ Sandy has ousen, an’ siller, an’ kye,
A house and a haudin’, an’ a’ things forbye;
But I wad hae Jamie wi’s bonnet in’s hand,
Afore I’d hae Sandy wi’ houses and land.
O think na lang, etc.
Hey! Johnny Cope, are ye a-waukin’ yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were waukin’ I wad wait,
Tae gang tae the coals in the morning.
When Charlie looked the letter upon,
He drew his sword the scabbard from
‘Come, follow me my merry men,
And we’ll meet Johnny Cope in the morning.’
Hey! Johnny Cope, are ye a-waukin’ yet?
etc.
My daddie was sulkie, my minnie was sour,
They gloom’d on my Jamie because he was poor;
But daddie and minnie altho’ that they be,
They’re nane o’ them a’ like my Jamie to me.
O think na lang, etc.
I sit on my sunkie and spin at my wheel,
An’ sing o’ my Jamie wha loes me sae weel;
‘Now Johnny be as good as your word,
10
He took a white saxpence and brak it in twa,
An’ gae me the hauf o’t when he gaed awa’.
O think na lang, etc.
Richt scornfully she answer’d him,
‘Begone, ye hallanshaker—
Jog on your gate, you bladderskate,
My name is Maggie Lauder.’
McPherson’s Rant
‘Maggie,’ quo’ he, ‘and by my bags,
I’m fidgin’ fain to see ye;
Sit doun by me, my bonnie bird
In troth I wadna steer thee;
For I’m a piper to my trade,
My name is Rab the Ranter;
The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.’
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strang,
Farewell, farewell to thee;
McPherson's life will no be long
On yonder gallows tree
Sae rantin’ly, sae wantonly
And sae dauntin’ly gaed he’
He played a tune and he danced it roon,
Below the gallows tree
‘Piper,’ quo’ Meg, ‘hae ye your bags,
And is your drone in order ?
If ye be Rob, I’ve heard o’ you ;
Ye live upo’ the Border?
The lasses a’, baith far and near,
Hae heard o’ Rab the Ranter;
I’ll shake my foot wi, richt gude will,
Gif ye’ll blaw up your chanter.’
It was by a woman’s treacherous hand
That I was condemned tae dee,
Upon a ledge at a window she stood,
And a blanket she threw ower me.
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
The Laird o’ Grant that Hieland saunt,
That first laid hands on me.
He pleads the cause o’ Peter Broon,
Tae let MacPherson dee.
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
Then to his bags he flew wi’ speed,
About the drone he twisted,
Meg up and wallop’d ower the green,
For brawly could she frisk it;
‘Weel done!’ quo’ he, ‘play up!’ quo’ she,
‘Weel bobb’d!’ quo’ Rab the Ranter;
‘It’s worth my while to play, indeed,
When I hae sic a dancer!’
Untie these bands frae off my hands
And gie to me my sword,
An’ there’s nae a man in a’ Scotland
But I’ll brave him at a word.
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
‘Weel hae ye play’d your part’ quo’ Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimson!
There’s nane in Scotland play’d sae weel,
Sin’ we lost Habbie Simpson.
I’ve lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,
This ten years and a quarter;
Gin ye should come to Anster Fair,
Spier ye for Maggie Lauder!’
There’s some come here for to see me hing,
And some to buy my fiddle;
But before that I do part wi’ her
I’ll break her through the middle
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
He took his fiddle in baith o’ his hands
And he broke it o’er a stane;
Sayin’: ‘There’s nae a ane shall play on thee
When I am dead and gane.’
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
Mairi’s Wedding
Step we gaily on we go
Heel for heel and toe for toe,
Arm in arm and row on row
All for Mairi’s wedding.
The reprieve was comin’ o’er the Brig of Banff
To set McPherson free;
But they put the clock a quarter before
And they hanged him fae the tree
Sae rantin’ly, etc.
Red her cheeks as rowans are,
Bright her eye as any star;
Fairest o’ them a’ by far
Is our darling Mairi.
Maggie Lauder
Plenty herring, plenty meal,
Plenty peat to fill her creel
Plenty bonny bairns as weel;
That’s the toast for Mairi.
Wha wadna be in love
Wi’ bonnie Maggie Lauder ?
A piper met her gaun to Fife,
And spier’d at what they ca’d her:
Mary Hamilton
Word is to the kitchen gone
11
And word is to the hall,
And word is up to Madam the Queen
And that’s the worst of all,
That Mary Hamilton’s born a babe to the highest
Stuart of all’
Last night there were four Maries,
Tonight there'll be but three,
There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me.’
‘Arise, arise, Mary Hamilton,
Arise and tell to me,
What thou hast done with thy wee babe
I saw and heard weep by thee?’
M’Ginty’s Meal and Ale
This is nae a sang o’ love, na’, nor yet a sang o’
money,
Faith it’s naethin’ verra peetifu’, it’s naethin’ verra
funny;
But there’s Hielan’ Scotch, an’ Lowland Scotch,
Butter Scotch an’ honey.
If there’s neen o’ them for a’ there’s a mixture o’
the three.
An’ there’s nae a word o’ beef, brose, sowens,
sauty bannocks, na’,
Nor pancakes, pace eggs for them wi’ dainty
stammicks;
But it’s a’ aboot a meal and ale that happened at
Balmannocks,
McGinty’s meal and ale, whaur the pig gaed on the
spree.
‘I put him in a tiny boat,
And cast him out to sea,
That he might sink or he might swim,
But he’d never come back to me.’
‘Arise, arise, Mary Hamilton,
Arise and come with me;
There is a wedding in Glasgow town
This night we’ll go and see.’
She put not on her robes of black,
Nor yet her robes of brown,
But she put on the robes of white,
To ride into Glasgow town.
They were howlin’ in the kitchen like a caravan
o Tinkies, aye,
And some were playing ping-pong and tiddelywiddely-winkies;
For up the howe an’ doon the howe ye niver saw
such jinkies,
As McGinty’s meal and ale, whaur the pig gaed
on the spree.
And as she rode into Glasgow town,
The city for to see,
The bailie’s wife and the provost’s wife
Cried, ‘Ach, and alas for thee.’
‘Ah, you need not weep for me,’ she cried
‘You need not weep for me;
For had I not slain my own wee babe
This death I would not dee.’
Noo McGinty’s pig had broken lowse, an’ wannert
tae the lobby,
Far he opened shived the pantry door, an’ cam’
upon the toddy;
And he took kindly tae the stuff like ony human
body,
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree
Miss McGinty she ran but the hoose, the wey was
dark an’ crookit,
She gaed heelster gowdie ower the pig, for it she
never lookit;
And she lat oot a skirl that wad hae paralysed a
teuchit,
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree.
‘Ah, little did my mother think
When first she cradled me,
The lands I was to travel in
And the death I was to dee.’
Then by and come the King himself,
Looked up with a pitiful eye,
Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton,
Tonight you’ll dine with me.’
‘Ah, hold your tongue, my sovereign liege,
And let your folly be;
For if you’d a mind to save my life
You’d never have shamed me here.’
‘Cast off, cast off my gown,’ she cried,
‘But let my petticoat be,
And tie a napkin ’round my face;
The gallows I would not see.’
Johnnie Murphy he ran efter her, and ower the pig
was leapin’
Fan he trampit on a ashet that was sittin’ fu o’
dreepin’
An’ he fell doon and peel’t his croon, an’ couldna
haud fae greetin’
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree.
‘Last night I washed the Queen’s feet,
And put the gold on her hair,
And the only reward I find for this,
Is the gallows to be my share.
12
An’ the pantry shelf cam’ ricklin’ doon and he was
lyin’ kirnin’
Amang saft soap, pease meal, corn floor and
yirnin’
Like a golloch amang treacle but McGinty’s wife
was girnin’
At the soss upon her pantry fleer and wadna’ lat
him be.
They were howlin’ in the kitchen, etc.
Mingulay Boat Song
Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys,
Heave her head round into the weather;
Hill you ho, boys, let her go, boys,
Sailing homeward to Mingulay
What care we how white the Minch is.
What care we for the wind and weather?
For we know that every inch is
Sailing closer to Mingulay.
Syne they a’ ran skirlin’ tae the door but fan that it
was tuggit,
For aye it held the fester, aye the mair they ruggit;
Till McGinty roared tae bring an axe, he wadna be
humbuggit,
Na’ nor lockit in his ain hoose, and that he’d let
them see.
Sae the wife cam’ trailin’ wi’ an axe, an’ through
the bar was hacket,
And open flew the door at eence, sae ticht as they
were packet,
And a’ the crew cam’ rummlin’ oot like tatties fae a
bucket,
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree.
Wives are waiting at the pierhead,
Looking seaward from the heather.
Pull her round, boys, and we’ll anchor
E’er the sun sets on Mingulay.
Mormond Braes
As I cam’ in by Strichen toon
I heard a fair maid mournin’;
She was makin’ sair complaint
For her true love ne’er returnin’.
It’s fare ye weel ye Mormond Braes
Whaur aftimes I’ve been cheery;
Fare ye weel ye Mormond Braes
For it’s there I lost my dearie.
They had spurtles, they had tattie chappers, faith
they werena jokin’
And they swore they’d gar the pig claw whaur he
was never yokin’
But by this time the lad was fou’ and didna’ care a
dockin’
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig went on
the spree.
Oh! There’s eelie pigs an’ jeelie pigs, an’ pigs for
haudin’ butter,
Aye but this pig was dottin’ fou’ and rowin’ in the
gutter,
Till McGinty and his foreman trailed him oot upon
a shutter,
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree.
There’s mony a mare that’s snapper’d and fa’n
An’ risen again fu’ rarely’;
Mony a lass has lost her lad
And gotten anither richt early.
It’s fare ye weel ye Mormond Braes, etc.
So I’ll pit on my goun o’ green
It’s a forsaken token;
An’ that’ll lat the young men ken
That the bands o’ love are broken.
It’s fare ye weel ye Mormond Braes, etc.
An’ I’ll gang doon tae Strichen toon
Where I was bred and born;
And I will court anither lad
An’ I’ll mairry him the morn.
It’s fare ye weel ye Mormond Braes, etc.
Miss McGinty took the thing tae heart an’ hidit in
her closet,
An’ they rubbit Johnnie Murphy’s heid wi’
turpentine an’ rosit;
Syne they harl’t him wi’ meal and ale, until ye wad
suposit
He had sleepit in a mason’s trough and risen tae the
spree.
Oh! it’s weary on the barley bree, an’ weary on the
weather,
For it’s kirnin’ aboot ’mang dubs an drink, they
gang na’ weel thegither;
But there’s little doot McGinty’s pig is wishin’ for
anither
At McGinty’s meal and ale whaur the pig gaed on
the spree.
They were howlin’ in the kitchen, etc.
No More Fish, No Fishermen (c) 1996 I.
Sheldon Posen
Out along the harbour reach
Boats stand dried up on the beach
Ghost-like in the early dawn
Empty, now the fish are gone.
What will become of people now?
Try to build a life somehow
Hard, hard times are back again
No more fish, no fishermen.
13
You must take it in coin which the country affords,
Lillibulero, bullen a la;
Instead of broad pieces he pays with broad swords,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
To arms, to arms! etc.
No more shoppers in the stores
Since the fish plant closed its doors
Men who walked a trawler's decks
Now line up for welfare cheques.
There's big ‘For Sale’ signs everywhere
Pockets empty, cupboards bare
See it on the news at ten
No more fish, no fishermen.
A Pair o’ Nicky Tams
Fan I was only ten year auld, I left the pairish
sqweel;
My faither fee’d me till the Mains tae chaw his
milk and meal;
I first pit on my nairra breeks tae hap my spinnle
trams,
Syne buckled roon my knappin’ knees, a pair o’
Nicky Tams.
Once from Ship Cove to Cape Race
Port aux Basques to Harbour Grace
Newfoundlanders fished for cod
Owing merchants, trusting God.
They filled their dories twice a day
They fished their poor sweet lives away
They could not imagine then
No more fish, no fishermen.
It’s first I gaed for baillie loon and syne I gaed on
for third,
An’ syne, of course, I had tae get the horsemans’
grip an’ wird;
A loaf o’ breid tae be my piece an’ a bottle for
drinkin’ drams,
Bit ye canna gyang thro’ the caffhouse door
without yer Nicky Tams.
Back before the Second War
We could catch our fish inshore
Boats were small and gear was rough
We caught fish, but left enough.
And now there's no more fish because
The trawler fleets took all there was
We could see it coming then
No more fish, no fishermen.
The fairmer I am wi’ eynoo he’s wealthy, bit he’s
mean,
Though corn’s cheap, his horse is thin, his harness
fairly deen;
He gars us load oor cairts owre fu’, his conscience
has nae qualms,
Bit fan briest-straps brak there’s naething like a
pair o’ Nicky Tams.
Farewell now to stage and flake
Get out for the children's sake
Leave all friends and kin behind
Take whatever job you find.
There’s some that say things aren't so black
They say the fish will all come back
Who’ll be here to catch them then?
No more fish, no fishermen.
I’m coortin’ Bonnie Annie noo, Rob Tamson’s
kitchie deem;
She is five-and-forty an’ I’m but seventeen’
She clorts a muckle piece tae me, wi’ different
kinds o’ jam,
An’ tells me ilka nicht that she admires my Nicky
Tams.
Oh brother Sandy, hear ye the news?
Oh, brother Sandy, hear ye the news?
Lillibulero, bullen a la;
An army’s just coming without any shoes,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
To arms, to arms! Brave boys to arms!
A true British cause for your courage doth call;
Court, Country and City against a banditti,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
I startit oot, ae Sunday, tae the kirkie for tae gyang;
My collar it wis unco ticht, my breeks wis neen
owre lang;
I had my Bible in my pooch, likewise my Book o’
Psalms,
Fan Annie roared, ‘Ye muckle gype, tak’ aff yer
Nicky Tams!’
The Pope sends us over a bonny young Lad,
Lillibulero, bullen a la;
Who, to court British favour, wears a Highland
plad,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
To arms, to arms! etc.
Though unco sweir, I took them aff, the lassie for
tae please;
But aye my breeks they lirkit up, a’ roon aboot my
knees;
A muckle wasp flew up my leg in the middle o’ the
Psalms,
Oh niver again will I gang tae the kirk without my
Nicky Tams.
If this shall surprise you there’s news stranger yet;
Lillibulero, bullen a la;
He brings Highland money to pay British debt,
Lillibulero, bullen a la.
To arms, to arms! etc.
14
I’ve aften thocht I’d like tae be a bobby on the
Force;
Or maybe I’ll get on the cars, an’ drive a pair o’
horse;
Bit fativer it’s my lot tae be, the bobbies or the
trams,
I’ll ne’er forget the happy days I wore my Nicky
Tams.
Tae grant three wishes they’ve sent me here’.
An’ I hope so, an’ I say so,
‘Tae grant three wishes they’ve sent me here’;
Puir auld woman.
The auld woman looked intae her empty purse,
‘I could always use some cash, of course’;
The fairy waved her want aroond,
Lyin’ on the flair was a thoosand pound.
An’ I hope so, an’ I say so,
The fairy waved her wand aroond;
Puir auld woman.
Pretty Flowers
–Abroad for pleasure as I was a walking,
All upon a summer summer’s evening clear,
(Chorus) Abroad for pleasure as I was a-walking,
All upon a summer summer’s evening clear:
–’Twas there I beheld a most beautiful damsel,
Lamenting for her shepherd dear,
(Chorus) ‘Twas there I beheld a most beautiful
damsel,
Lamenting for her shepherd dear,
Lamenting for her shepherd dear.
‘Well, a lovely face and a figure divine,
For just one night I wish they were mine;’
The fairy said ‘Ah’ll have a go’,
Made her look like Brigitte Bardot.
An’ I hope so, an’ I say so,
The fairy said ‘Ah’ll have a go’,
Puir auld woman.
Now this lovely girl by the fire she sat,
Turned her attention tae her auld tom cat;
‘He’s my only love, so here’s my plan—
Tonight make him a handsome man.’
An’ I hope so, an’ I say so,
‘He’s my only love so here’s my plan;’
Puir auld woman.
–The dearest ev’ning that e’er I beheld thee,
Was ever ever ever with the lad I adore;
(Chorus) The dearest ev’ning that e’er I beheld
thee,
Was ever ever ever with the lad I adore;
–Wilt thou go fight yon French and Spaniards?
Wilt thou leave me thus, my dear?
(Chorus) Wilt thou go fight yon French and
Spaniards?
Wilt thou leave me thus, my dear?
Wilt thou leave me thus, my dear?
This handsome man at length drew near,
He whispered softly in her ear:
‘The night is young, but you’ll regret
The day you sent me to the vet’.
An’ I hope so, and I say so,
‘The night is young, but you’ll regret’,
Puir auld woman.
–No more to yon green banks will I take thee,
With pleasure for to rest thyself and view the
lambs;
(Chorus) No more to yon green banks will I take
thee,
With pleasure for to rest thyself and view the
lambs;
–But I will take thee to yon green gardens,
Where those pretty flowers grow;
(Chorus) But I will take thee to yon green gardens,
Where those pretty flowers grow:
Where those pretty pretty flowers grow.
Roll Alabama Roll
When the Alabama’s keel was laid,
Roll, Alabama, Roll,
It was laid in the yards of Jonathan Laird,
O roll, Alabama, roll.
It was laid in the yards of Jonathan Laird,
It was laid in the town of Birkenhead,
Down Mersey way she sailed then,
Liverpool fitted her with guns and men.
Puir auld woman
In an attic room in Dundee toon,
A puir auld woman spread the tale aroon’;
She lived fifty years in a wee top flat,
Nae ither company but her auld tom cat.
An’ I hope so, an’ I say so,
Fifty years in a wee top flat;
Puir auld woman.
From the western isles she sailed forth
To destroy the commerce of the North;
To fight the North, Semmes did employ
Any method to kill and destroy.
Into Cherbourg port she sailed one day
To take the count of her prize money
One night by the fire she sat gey glum,
When what dae ye think cam’ doon her lum?
‘Ah’m yer fairy godmither, have nae fear,
And many a seaman saw his doom
15
When Yankee Kearsage hove into view.
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
I thought I heard my baby say
I won’t be home tomorrow.
A shot from the forward pivot that day
Blew the Alabama’s stern away.
The steamboat’s comin’ round the bend.
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
It’s loaded down with harvest men,
I won’t be home tomorrow.
Off the three-mile limit in ’64,
The Alabama was seen no more.
I’m goin’ away, but not to stay
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
I’m goin’ away, but not to stay
But I won’t be home tomorrow.
Rolling Home
Call all hands to man the capstan,
See the cable running clear,
Heave around and with the wheel boys,
For our homeland we will steer.
Strangest Dream
Rolling home, rolling home,
Rolling home across the sea,
Rolling home to Caledonia,
Rolling home dear land to thee.
Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.
I dreamed I saw a mighty room
The room was filled with men [and women]
And the paper they were signing said
They’d never fight again.
Fare ye well ye Spanish ladies,
We must bid you all adieu,
Happy times we’ve had together,
Happy times we spent with you.
Rolling home, rolling home, etc.
And when the paper was all signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands and bowed their heads
And grateful prayers were prayed.
And the people in the streets below
Were dancing round and round
While guns and swords and uniforms
Lay scattered on the ground.
Round the horn one frosty morning,
And our sails were filled with snow,
You could hear the shellbacks calling,
Heave around and let her go.
Rolling home, rolling home, etc.
Now the wake we leave behind us,
Seems to know the way we go,
There’s a hearty welcome waiting,
In the land that we all know.
Rolling home, rolling home, etc.
Last night I had the strangest dream
I ever dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.
Roseanna
Oh, Ro-se-anne, sweet Ro-se-anne,
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
I’m goin’ away, but not to stay,
And I won’t be home tomorrow.
Surrounded By Water (Dominic Behan)
They say that the lakes of Killarney are fair,
That no stream like the Liffey can ever compare;
If it’s water you want you'll find nothing more rare
Than the stuff they make down by the ocean.
Bye bye, Bye bye, Bye bye, Bye bye,
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
Bye bye, Bye bye, Bye bye, Bye bye,
And I won’t be home tomorrow.
The sea, oh the sea is the gradh geal mo croide,
Long may it stay between England and me;
It’s a sure guarantee that some hour we’ll be
free
Oh! thank God we’re surrounded by water.
I thought I heard the captain say,
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
Don’t you want to go home on your next payday?
And I won’t be home tomorrow.
Tom Moore made his waters meet fame and
renown,
A great lover of anything dressed in a crown;
In brandy the bandy old Saxon he’d drown,
But throw ne’er a one into the ocean.
The steamboat’s comin’ round the bend.
Bye bye my Ro-se-an-na
A-loaded down with fishermen,
And I won’t be home tomorrow.
The Scots have their whisky, the Welsh have their
speech;
Sweet, Ro-se-anne, my darlin’ child
16
A gown o’ silk, a gown o’ silk;
Ye shall get a gown o’ silk
And coat o’ calimankie.
And their poets are paid about ten pence a week,
Provided no hard words on England they speak,
Oh Lord! What a price for devotion!
Na, kind sir, I dare nae gang
I dare nae gang, I dare nae gang;
Na, kind sir, I dare nae gang
For my mither wad be angry.
The Barnyards o’ Delgaty
As I gaed doon by Turra Market,
Turra Market for tae fee;
I fell in wi’ a farmer chiel,
Fae the Barnyards o’ Delgaty.
Sair, sair wad she flyte,
Wad she flyte, wad she flyte;
Sair, sair wad she flyte
And sair wad she ban me.
Lintin addie, toorin addie,
Lintin addie toorin ay;
Lintin owrin’ lowrin’ lowrin’,
The barnyards o' Delgaty.
The Bleacher Lassie o’ Kelvinhaugh
As I walked out on a simmer's evenin’,
A-walkin’ doun by the Broomielaw;
It wis there I spied a fair young lassie
Wi’ cherrie cheeks an a skin like snaw.
He promised me the ae best pair
That iver I set my een upon;
But when I gat tae the barnyards,
There was naethin’ there but skin and bone.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
Says I, ‘My lassie, is it you that wanders
Oot a’ alane by the Broomielaw?’
‘O, indeed, kind sir, it’s the truth I’ll tell ye
I’m the bleacher lassie o’ Kelvinhaugh.’
The auld black horse sat on her rump,
The auld grey mare sat on her wime;
And for all that I wad whup an’ crack,
They wouldna rise at yokin’ time.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
‘O lassie, lassie, will ye gang wi’ me
An’ I’ll claith ye up a’ in fine satins braw?’
‘O indeed, kind sir, I maun plainly tell ye
I’ve a lad o’ my ain an he’s far awa’.’
When I gang doon tae Kirk on Sunday,
Mony’s the bonny lass I see;
Sittin’ by her father’s side,
And winkin’ o’er the pews at me.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
‘It’s seven lang years since I lo’oed a sailor
It’s seven lang years sin’ he’s gaed awa;
But anither twice seven I wad wait upon him
An’ I’ll bleach my claes here in Kelvinhaugh.’
Oh I can drink and nae be drunken,
I can fecht an’ nae be slain;
I can lie wi’ another man’s lass
And still be welcome tae my ain.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
‘O lassie, lassie, ye hae been faithfu’,
An’ thocht on me whan that I was awa’;
Twa herts will surely be rewardit
We’ll pairt nae mair here on Kelvinhaugh.’
Lang Jean Scott she maks my bed,
Ye’ll see the marks upon my shins;
For she’s the coorse ill-trickit jaud
That fills my bed wi’ prickly whins.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
It’s noo this couple, they hae got mairriet
An’ they keep an alehoose atween them twa;
An the sailor laddies they a’ gang drinkin’
At the bleacher lassie’s o’ Kelvinhaugh.
Noo my caun’le is brunt oot,
Its lowe is fairly o the wane;
Sae fare ye weel ye Barnyards
Ye’ll niver catch me here again.
Lintin addie, toorin addie, etc.
The Bonnie Earl of Moray
Ye Hielands an’ ye Lowlands
O, whaur hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl o’ Moray
And laid him on the green;
He was a braw gallant
And he rode at the ring,
An’ the bonnie Earl of Moray
O, he micht hae been the king.
O, lang may his lady
Look frae the castle Doune
Birks o’ Abergeldie
Bonnie lassie, will ye go,
Will ye go, will ye go;
Bonnie lassie, will ye go
To the birks o’ Abergeldie?
An’ ye shall get a gown o’ silk,
17
Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray
Come soundin’ through the toun.
Green grow the birks on bonnie Ythanside,
And low lie the lowlands of Fyvie-o;
The captain's name was Ned and he died for a
maid,
He died for the bonny lass of Fyvie-o.
Now wae be to thee, Huntly
And wherefore did ye sae?
I bade you bring him wi’ you
But forbade ye him to slay.
He was a braw gallant
And he play’d at the ba’,
An’ the Bonnie Earl o’ Moray
Was the flower amang them a’.
Lang may his lady
Look frae the Castle Doune
Ere she see the Earl o’ Moray
Come soundin’ through the toun.
The Broom o’ the Cowdenknowes
O the broom, the bonnie bonnie broom,
The broom o’ the Cowdenknowes;
And aye sae sweet the bonnie lassie sang,
I’ the ewe bucht milking her yowes, her yowes
I' the ewe bucht milking her yowes.
The lassie sang ower a’ the hills,
And sae sweet a voice had she,
She caught the ear o’ a gentleman,
As he cam’ ridin’ by, by,
As he cam’ ridin’ by.
Bonnie Lass of Fyvie
There once was a troop of Irish dragoons
Come marching down through Fyvie-o;
And the captain fell in love with a very bonnie lass
And her name it was called was pretty Peggy-o.
He’s ta’en his leave o’ a’ his men,
And doon to the bucht rode he,
Said ‘Misty, misty is the nicht,
Will ye show us the way, way
Will ye show us the way?’
There’s mony a bonnie lass in the howe o’
Auchterless,
There’s mony a bonnie lass in the Garioch-o;
There’s mony a bonnie Jean in the toon o’
Aberdeen
But the flower of them a’ lives in Fyvie-o.
‘O, ye hae plenty o’ men,’ she said,
‘That work for meat and fee;
I dinna think that I’d be safe
To guide ye on the way, the way
To guide ye on the way.’
O come down the stairs, Pretty Peggy, my dear,
Come down the stairs, Pretty Peggy-o;
Come down the stairs, tie up your yellow hair
Bid a last fareweel to your mammy-o.
‘For I ken ye by the claes ye wear,
An’ by your blinkin’ e’e,
That ye are the laird o’ Lochnagar,
And so ye seem to be, to be
And se ye seem to be..
It's braw, oh it’s braw, a captain’s lady for to be;
It’s braw to be a captain’s lady-o;
It’s braw to rant and rove and follow at his word,
And to ride when your captain he is ready-o.
‘I’m nae the laird o’ Lochnagar,
I never expect to be,
For I am but ane o’ his best men,
I ride in his company–y
I ride in his company.’
I never did intend a soldier’s lady for to be,
A soldier shall never enjoy me-o;
I never did intend to gang till a foreign land
And I will never marry a soldier-o.
‘Mount’, cries the colonel, ‘mount, boys, mount’.
‘Tarry’, says our captain, ‘oh tarry-o;
‘O tarry for a while, for anither day or twa’,
Till we see if this bonnie lass will marry-o’.
‘ But I ken ye by your middle sae sma’,
And by your grass-green sleeve,
That ye are the lass o’ the Cowdenknowes,
And so you seem to be, to be
And so ye seem to be.
Twas in the early morning, when we marched awa,
And oh but our captain he was sorry-o.
The drums they did beat ow’re the bonny braes o’
Gight,
And the pipes played The Lowlands o’ Fyvie-o.
‘It’s I’m nae the lass o’ the Cowdenknowes,
It’s nae her that ye see,
For I am but ane o’ her faither’s maids,
And aye will ever be, be
And aye will ever be.’
Long ere we came to bonnie Ellon toon,
Our captain we had to carry-o;
And long ere we won to the streets of Aberdeen
Our captain we had for to bury-o.
He’s catched her by the lily white hand,
Below the grass-green sleeve,
And laid her on the mossy bank,
And speired na’ for her leave, leave
18
And speired na’ for her leave.
Ye were in the ewe-buchts wi’ me, wi’ me,
You were in the ewe-buchts wi’ me.
Then he’s ta’en oot a hantle o’ gowd,
And kaimed her yellow hair,
Says ‘Here’s your fee, ye weel-faur’d maid,
Frae me ye’ll no’ get mair, mair,
Frae me ye’ll no get mair.’
Then he’s ca’ed ane o’ his best men,
To come and set her on;
‘Ye may ca’ your kye yoursel’ goodman,
But she’ll never ca’ them again, again,
No she’ll never ca’ them again.
He’s lowped on to his milk-white steed,
And after his men did gang,
And ane o’ them cried oot to him,
‘O Master ye’ve tarried lang, lang
O Master, ye’ve tarried lang.’
For I am the laird of Lochnagar,
I’ve thirty ploughs and three
And I hae chose the bonniest lass,
In a’ the North countrie, countrie
In a’ the North countrie.
‘I hae bin east, I hae bin west,
And I’ve bin among the knowes;
But the bonniest lass that ere I saw,
Was milkin’ her faither’s yowes, yowes
Was milkin’ her faither’s yowes.
The Crocodile
A famous Scotch Professor was a-walking by the
Nile,
O tempora! O mores!
When from the muddy waters crept a beastly
crocodile,
O tempora! O mores!
It gaped for to devour him, plaid, philabeg an’ a’
O tempo-tempora! Juch-heirassasasa!
We praise thee now and evermore, Dame Musica!
She set the cog upon her heid
And she's gone liltin’ hame;
‘O whaur hae ye bin, my ane dochter?
It’s ye hae tarried lang, lang,
It’s ye hae tarried lang.’
‘O wae be tae yer yoweherd man,
And an ill death may he dee;
He’s biggit the ewe-buchts sae far awa’
And they’ve trysted a man to me, to me
They’ve trysted a man to me.’
He shriek’d ‘ho moi psu psu popoi’ then forth a
bagpipe drew,
O...
And on that noble instrument sweet Gaelic tunes he
blew.
O...
Allegro, dolce, presto, - oh, how he did them blaw!
O tempo-tempora . . .
We praise . . .
When fifteen weeks was come and gone,
Sae pale and wan grew she,
She began to sigh and long
For his bonnie, blinkin’ e’e e’e,
His bonnie blinkin’ e’e.
And at the first melodious howl that from the bag
did go,
O...
The ugly brute began to trip the light fantastic toe,
O...
Jig, reel, and waltz, and polka, and Highland fling
an’ a’.
O tempo-tempora . . .
We praise . . .
It fell on a day, a bonnie simmer day,
She was ca’in’ her faither's kye;
There cam’ a troop o' gentlemen
And they were a-riding by, by
And they were riding by.
He’s ta’en the leave o’ a’ his men,
And to the lass gaed he;
Says ‘Wha’s the faither o’ that bairn,
That bairn that gangs wi’ thee, wi’ thee,
That bairn that gangs wi’ thee?’
It gnashed its teeth, and hopp’d and skipped the
sandy plain aroun’,
O...
Till wi’ its waggling tail it knocked a lot o’
pyramids doun,
O...
For they have lang been rickety, wi’ mummies,
banes an’ a’,
O tempo-tempora . . .
We praise . . .
She’s turned awa’ and hung her heid,
For she thocht muckle shame;
But ne’er a word could that bonnie lassie say,
But ‘The bairn’s faither’s at hame, at hame,
The bairn’s faither’s at hame.’
‘Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie lass,
Sae loud’s I hear ye lee;
For dinna ye mind that misty night
And when he saw the pyramids had squashed the
crocodill,
19
O...
He turned into the nearest pub, his inner man to fill,
O...
He sipped and quaffed Nile water, an’ whisky,
beer, an’ a’
O tempo-tempora . . .
We praise . . .
All genuine Scotch Professors like fish their liquor
swill,
O tempora! O mores!
If this one has not ceased to drink, maybe he’s
drinking still;
O tempora! O mores!
And all good men they drink with him, Greek,
Teuton, Celt,an’ a’!
O tempo-tempora! Juch-heirassasasa!
We praise thee now and evermore, Dame Musica!
The Day we went to Rothesay
Ae Hogmany at Glesca Fair,
There was me, mysel’ and several mair,
We a’ went off to hae a tear
An’ spend the nicht in Rothesay o.
We wandered doon the Broomielaw,
Thro’ wind an’ rain an’ sleet an’ snaw,
And at forty minutes after twa,
We wan the length o’ Rothesay, o.
Durrum a doo a dum a day,
Durrum a doo a daddy o,
Durrum a doo a dum a day,
The day we went to Rothesay, o.
In search of lodgins we did slide,
To find a place where we could bide;
There was eighty-twa o’ us inside
In a single end in Rothesay, o.
We a’ laid doon to tak’ our ease,
When somebody happened for to sneeze;
And he wakened half a million fleas
In a single end in Rothesay, o.
Durrum a doo a dum a day, etc.
There were several different kinds o’ bugs,
An’ some had feet like spaniel dugs,
And they sat on their airse and they cockit their
lugs,
And they cried ‘Hurrah for Rothesay, o!’
‘An’ noo,’ says I, ‘we’ll have to ’lope’
So we went and jined the Band o’ Hope,
But the polis wouldna let us stop
Anither nicht in Rothesay, o.
Durrum a doo a dum a day, etc.
The D-Day Dodgers
We’re the D-Day Dodgers, out in Italy—
Always on the vino, always on the spree.
8th Army scroungers with our tanks,
We live in Rome among the Yanks,
We are the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
We landed at Salerno, a holiday with pay;
The Jerries brought the bands out to greet us on the
way…
Showed us the sights and gave us tea,
We all sang songs—the beer was free,
To welcome D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
Naples and Cassino were taken in our stride,
We didn’t go to fight there—we went there for the
ride.
Anzio and Sangro were just names,
We only went to look for dames—
We are the D-Day Dodgers, way out in Italy.
The Gallant Forty-Twa
Weel it’s s noo I am a sodger, and they ca’ me
Jakie Broon,
I used to be a weaver, and I bade in Maxweltoon,
But noo I’ve jined the airmy, and to Perth I’m gaun
awa’,
For to join the Heiland Regiment, the gallant FortyTwa.
On the way to Florence we had a lovely time,
We ran a bus to Rimini right through the Gothic
Line,
Soon to Bologna we will go
And after that we’ll cross the Po,
We’ll still be D-Day dodging, way out in Italy.
You may talk aboot your First Royals, your
Scottish Fusiliers,
Your Aberdeen Militia, and your dandy
Volunteers,
Your Seaforth’s wi’ their streekit kilts; an’ the
Gordons big and braw;
But gae bring to me the tartan o’ the gallant
FortyTwa.
Dear old Lady Astor, you think you know a lot,
Standing on a platform and talking tommy-rot,
You, England’s sweetheart and her pride
We think your mouth’s too bloody wide
That’s from the D-Day Dodgers, in sunny Italy.
Look around the mountains, in the mud and rain—
You’ll find the scattered crosses, and some which
bear no name;
Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone,
The boys beneath them slumber on,
These are the D-Day Dodgers who’ll stay in Italy.
Noo, the very first day upon parade amang a lot o’
raw recruits,
The sergeant he’s aye after me looking at my boots,
20
He’s beezed himsel’ up for a photy an a’
Tae leave wi his Lola, his dearie.
He tapped me on the shoulder, and says, Jock you
come awa,’
For I think you'll make a helluva mess o’ the
gallant
Forty-Twa.’
Sae fare weel ye dives o’ Sicily
(Fare ye weel, ye sheiling an’ ha’),
We’ll a’ mind shebeens an’ bothies
Whaur kind signorinas were cheerie
When we were on manoeuvres, the sergeant says to
me:
‘Gang oot aboot, and scoot about, and see whit ye
can see;
If ye keep yer heid aye bobbin’ up, ye’ll gie us a’
awa’,
For ye have the biggest napper in the gallant FortyTwa.’
Fare weel, ye banks o’ Sicily
(Fare ye weel, ye sheiling an’ ha’);
We’ll a’ mind shebeens an bothies
Whaur Jock made a date wi’ his dearie.
Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum
(Leave your kit this side o’ the wa’).
Then tune the pipes and drub the tenor drum
A’ the bricht chaumers are eerie.
Noo, when the bugle sounded and dinner time cam’
on,
I was the first man at the table, and in my hand a
spoon,
Up cam’ the orderly officer and he turned his heid
awa’,
‘Man, ye are the biggest glutton in the gallant
Forty-Twa.’
The Jute Mill Song
Oh dear me, the mill’s gaun fast;
And we puir shifters canna get our rest;
Shiftin’ bobbins coorse and fine.
They fairly make ye work for your ten and nine.
Weel, it’s noo I am on furlough, to Dundee I will
gang,
And I will show my comrades it’s how to handle a
gun;
I’ll tak’ them in and stand a treat and when I start
to blaw,
Ye wad think I was fu’ colonel o’ the gallant FortyTwa.
O dear me, I wish the day were done;
Runnin’ up and doon the paths in nae fun
Shiftin’, piecin’, spinnin’—warp, weft and twine
There’s nae much pleesure livin’ offen ten and
nine.
Oh dear me, the world is ill-divided
Them that works the hardest are the least provided;
I maun work the harder dark days and fine
To feed and clathe my bairnies offen ten and nine.
The 51st Highland Division’s Farewell to
Sicily
The Laird o’ Cockpen
The pipie is dozie, the pipie is fey,
He winna come roun’ for his vino the day.
The sky ow’r Messina is unco an’ gray
An’ a’ the bricht chaumers are eerie
The Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud and he’s great,
His mind is ta’en up wi’ the things o’ the state;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favour wi’ wooin’ was fashious to seek.
Then fare weel ye banks o’ Sicily,
Fare ye weel ye valley an’ shaw.
There’s nae Jock will mourn the kyles o’ ye,
Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie.
Doon by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table head he thocht she’d look well,
MacClish’s ae daughter o’ Clavers-ha’ Lee,
A penniless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.
Fare weel, ye banks o’ Sicily,
Fare ye weill ye valley an shaw,
There’s nae hame can smoor the wiles o’ ye,
Puir bliddy swaddies are wearie.
His wig was weel pouther’d and as gude as new,
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cock’d hat,
And wha could refuse the laird wi’ a’ that?
Then doon the stair and line the waterside,
Wait yer turn, the ferry’s awa’.
Then doon the stair an line the waterside,
A’ the bricht chaumers are eerie.
He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,
An’ rapp’d at the yett o’ Clavers-ha’ Lee;
‘Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,–
She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.’
The drummie is polished, the drummie is braw
He cannae be seen for his webbin’ ava.
Mistress Jean she was makin’ the elder-flower
wine;
‘An’ what brings the laird at sic a like time?’
21
She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown,
Her mutch wi’red ribbons, an gaed awa’ down.
An’ awa she went wi’ the great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.
An’ when she cam’ ben he bowed fu’ low,
An’ what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the laird, when the lady said, ‘Na!’
And wi’ a laigh curtsie she tuned awa’.
She floated fu’ many a mile,
Past cottage an’ village an’ toon,
She’d an awfu’ time astride o’ the gate,
Though it seemed to gree fine wi’ the great muckle
skate,
An’ the lum hat wantin’ the croon.
Dumbfounder’d was he, but nae sigh did he gie,
He mounted his mare and he rade cannily;
An’ aften he thought, as he gaed through the glen,
She’s daft to refuse the laird o’ Cockpen.’
A fisher was walkin’ the deck,
By the licht o’ his pipe an’ the mune,
When he sees an auld body astride o’ a gate,
Come bobbin’ along in the waves wi’ a skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.
The Lass of Patie’s Mill
The lass of Patie’s Mill,
So bonnie, blithe, and gay,
In spite of all my skill
Hath stole my heart away.
When tedding of the hay,
Bare-headed on the green,
Love ‘midst her locks did play,
And wanton’d in her e’en.
‘There’s a man overboard!’ cries he,
‘Ye leear!’ says she, ‘Man, I’ll droon!
A man on a boord? It’s a wife on a gate,
It’s auld Mistress Mackintosh here wi’ a skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.’
Was she nippit to death at the Pole?
Has India bakit her broon?
I canna tell that, but whatever her fate,
I’ll wager ye’ll find it was shared by a gate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.
Without the help of art,
Like flow’rs which grace the wild,
She did her sweets impart,
Whene’er she spoke or smiled.
Her looks they were so mild,
Free from affected pride,
She me to love beguiled;
I wish’d her for my bride.
There’s a moral attached tae my sang,
On greed ye should aye gie a froon,
When ye think o’ the wife that was lost for a gate,
An auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.
O! had I all the wealth
Hopetoun’s high mountains fill;
Insured long life and health,
And pleasure at my will;
I’d promise and fulfil
That none but bonnie she,
The lass of Patie’s mill,
Should share the same with me.
The Road and the Miles to Dundee
Cauld winter was howlin’ o’er moor and o’er
mountain,
And wild was the surge of the dark rolling sea,
When I met about daybreak a bonnie young lassie,
Wha asked me the road and the miles to Dundee.
Says I, ‘My young lassie, I canna’ weel tell ye
The road and the distance I canna’ weel gie.
But if you'll permit me tae gang a wee bittie,
I’ll show ye the road and the miles to Dundee’.
The Lum Hat Wantin’ the Croon
The burn was big wi’ spate,
An’ there cam’ tum’lin’ doon,
Tapsalterie the half o’ a gate,
Wi’ an auld fish-hake an’ a great muckle skate,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.
At once she consented and gave me her arm,
Ne’er a word did I speir wha the lassie micht be,
She appeared like an angel in feature and form,
As she walked by my side on the road to Dundee.
The auld wife stude on the bank
As they gaed swirlin’ roun’,
She took a gude look an’ syne says she:
‘There’s food an’ there’s firin’ gaun to the sea,
An’ a lum hat wantin’ the croon.’
At length wi’ the Howe o' Strathmartine behind us,
The spires o’ the toon in full view we could see,
She said ‘Gentle Sir, I can never forget ye
For showing me sae far on the road to Dundee’.
Sae she gruppit the branch o’ a saugh,
An’ she kickit off ane o’ her shoon,
An’ she stuck oot her fit–but it caught in the gate,
I took the gowd pin from the scarf on my bosom–
Says I ‘Keep ye this in remembrance o’ me;’
22
Then bravely I kissed the sweet lips o’ the lassie,
E’er I parted wi’ her on the road to Dundee.
Then this bold mameluke drew his trusty
chibouque
With a cry of ‘Allah Akbar!’
And with murderous intent, he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
So here’s to the lassie, I ne’er can forget her,
And ilka young laddie that’s listenin’ to me,
O never be sweer to convoy a young lassie
Though it’s only to show her the road to Dundee.
Then they parried and thrust and they side-stepped
and cussed
’Till their blood would have filled a great pot.
The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
Say that hash was first made on that spot.
The sons of the prophet were hardy and
bold
The sons of the prophet were hardy and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest of these was a man, I am told
Named Abdul Abulbul Amir.
They fought all that night, ’neath the pale yellow
moon;
The din, it was heard from afar;
And great multitudes came, so great was the fame
of Abdul and Ivan Skivar.
This son of the desert, in battle aroused,
Could spit twenty men on his spear.
A terrible creature, both sober and soused
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
As Abdul’s long knife was extracting the life In fact, he was shouting ‘Huzzah!’ - He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
When they needed a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Or to storm a redoubt, they had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
The sultan drove by in his red-breasted fly,
Expecting the victor to cheer;
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
There were heroes aplenty and men known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar;
But the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue
Rode up in his new crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line
With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool
And perform on the Spanish Guitar.
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
A loud-sounding splash from the Danube was
heard
Resounding o’er meadows afar;
It came from the sack fitting close to the back
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;
He could drink them all under the bar.
As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank
With Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
There’s a tomb rises up where the blue Danube
flows;
Engraved there in characters clear;
‘Ah stranger, when passing, please pray for the
soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.’
One day this bold Russian had shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer;
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
‘Young man’ quoth Bulbul, ‘has life grown so dull,
That you’re anxious to end your career?
Vile infidel! Know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.’
A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,
’Neath the light of the pale polar star;
And the name that she murmurs as oft as she weeps
Is Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.
‘So take your last look at the sunshine and brook
And send your regrets to the Czar;
By this I imply you are going to die,
Mr. Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.’
The Soor Mulk Cairt
Oh, I am a country chappie, an I’m serving at
Polnoon,
A wee bit fairm near Eaglesham, that fine auldfashioned toon,
Whaur in the mornin early, a little efter three
We tak the road richt merrily, ma auld black horse
and me.
Quoth Ivan, ‘My friend, your remarks, in the end,
Will avail you but little, I fear,
For you ne’er will survive to repeat them alive,
Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir!’
23
But mither wit an’ native fire
That warms the bosom’s core.
Let kings and courtiers rise and fa’, etc.
Wi’ her cheeks red as roses an her e’en sae
bonnie
blue,
Glancin’, entrancin’, they pierced me through
and
through,
She fairly won ma fancy an she stole awa ma
hert,
Drivin’ intae Glesga in ma soor mulk cairt.
The Twa Corbies
As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies makin’ a mane;
The tane unto the ither say,
‘Whar sall we gang and dine the-day?’
The other mornin early, as the Barlin I did pass
I happened tae foregaither wi’ fair young country
lass.
Says I ‘Ma bonnie lassie, if ye’re gangin’ ower that
airt
A’ll drive ye intae Glasga in ma soor mulk cairt.’
Wi’ her cheeks red as roses, etc.
‘In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And nane do ken that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound an his lady fair.’
‘His hound is tae the huntin’ gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s taen anither mate,
So we may mak’ oor dinner sweet.
I raised her up beside me an we soon got on the
crack,
An wi’ a smile she telt me that her name was
Maggy Watt;
I telt the auld auld story while the woods around us
rang
Wi’ the whistlin’ o’ the mavis an’ the blackbird’s
cheery sang.
Wi’ her cheeks red as roses, etc.
‘Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll theek oor nest whan it grows bare.’
‘Mony a ane for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Through his white banes, whan they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.’
I’ve heard o lords an ladies making love in shady
bowers,
An how they woo’d an won amang the roses an the
flowers;
But I’ll ne’er forget the mornin’ little Cupid threw
his dart
Drivin’ doon tae Glasga in the soor mulk cairt.
Wi’ her cheeks red as roses, etc.
The Wee Magic Stane
Oh the Dean o’ Westminster’s a powerful man,
He hauds a’ the strings o’ the state in his hand;
But a’ this great business it bothered him nane,
Till some rascal ran aff wi’ his wee magic stane.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, oor-a-li, oor-a-li-ay.
The Star o’ Rabbie Burns
Noo the stane had great pow’rs that could dae such
a thing
And withoot it, it seemed, we’d be wantin’ a king,
So he ca’d in the polis and gave this decree–
‘Gae an’ hunt oot the Stane and return it tae me.’
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
There is a star whose beaming ray
Is shed on ev’ry clime.
It shines by night, it shines by day
And ne’er grows dim wi’ time.
It rose upon the banks of Ayr,
It shone on Doon’s clear stream A hundred years are gane and mair,
Yet brighter grows its beam.
So the polis went beetlin’ up tae the North
They huntit the Clyde and they huntit the Forth,
But the wild folk up yonder jist kiddit them a’
Fur they didnae believe it wis magic at a’.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
Let kings and courtiers rise and fa’,
This world has mony turns
But brightly beams aboon them a’
The star o’ Rabbie Burns.
Noo the Provost o’ Glesga, Sir Victor by name,
Was awfy pit oot when he heard o’ the Stane,
So he offered the statues that staun in the Square
That the high churches’ masons might mak’ a few
mair.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
Though he was but a ploughman lad
And wore the hodden grey,
Auld Scotland’s sweetest bards were bred
Aneath a roof o’ strae.
To sweep the strings o’ Scotia's lyre,
It needs nae classic lore;
24
When the Dean o’ Westminster wi’ this was
acquaint,
He sent for Sir Victor and made him a saint,
‘Now it’s no use you sending your statues down
heah’
Said the Dean, ‘But you’ve given me a first rate
ideah.’
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
There’s them that’s independent o’ither
tradesmen’s work,
The women need nae barber, the dykers need nae
clerk,
But nane o’ them can dae wi’oot a coat or a sark
Aye they a’ need the wark o’ the weavers.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, etc.
So he quarried a stane o’ the very same stuff
An’ he dressed it a’ up till it looked like enough,
Then he sent for the Press and announced that the
Stane
Had been found and returned to Westminster again.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
Nor oor joiners and oor slaters, oor glaziers and a’
Oor doctors and oor ministers and them that live by
law
And our friends in Sooth Americay, though them
we never saw
But we ken they wear the work of the weavers.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, etc.
When the reivers fun’ oot what Westminster had
done,
They went aboot diggin’ up stanes by the ton,
And fur each wan they feenished they entered the
claim
That this was the true and original stane.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
Oor sodgers and oor sailors, we ken they’re a’ bold,
But, faith, if they had nae claes they couldnae fecht
for cold
The high and low, the rich and poor, a’body young
or old
Aye they a’ wear the wark o’ the weavers.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, etc.
Noo the best o’ the joke still remains tae be tellt,
Fur the bloke that was turnin’ them aff on the belt,
At the peak o’ production was sae sairly pressed,
That the real yin got bunged in alang wi’ the rest.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
Noo weavin' is a trade that never can fail
As lang as we need clothes for to keep a body hale
Sae let us a’ be merry o'er a bicker of good ale
And drink tae the health of the weavers.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, etc.
So if ever ye come on a stane wi’ a ring
Jist sit yersel’ doon an’ proclaim yersel King,
Fur there’s nane wud be able to challenge yir claim
That ye croont yersel King on the Destiny Stane.
Wi’ a too-ra-li, etc.
The Yellow Haired Laddie
The yellow-hair’d laddie sat down on yon brae,
Cries, ‘Milk the ewes, lassie, let nane of them gae.’
And aye as she milked, and aye as she sang:
‘The yellow-hair’d laddie shall be my gudeman.’
And aye as she milked, &c.
The Work of the Weavers
We’re all met togither here tae sit and tae crack
Wi’ oor glasses in oor hands and oor work upon
oor back;
There’s nae a trade among ’em a’ could either
mend or mak’
If it wisna for the wark o’ the weavers.
The weather is cauld, and my claithing is thin,
The ewes are new clipped, they winna bught in:
They winna bught in altho’ I should die,
O yellow-hair’d laddie, be ye gude to me.
They winna bught in, &c.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, what would we
do?
We wadnae hae claith made o’ our ’oo;
We wadnae hae a coat neither black nor blue
Gin it wisnae for the work of the weavers.
The goodwife cries but the house, ‘Jenny, come
ben,
The cheese is to mak’, and the butter’s to kirn;’
Tho’ butter, and cheese, and a’ should gae sour,
I’ll kiss wi’ my lover for e’en half an hour:
If we mak’ it a half-hour, we’s e’en mak’ it three,
For the yellow-hair’d laddie my gudeman shall be.
Now the hireman chiels they mock us and crack
aye aboot
They say that we are thin-faced, bleached like
cloots,
And yet for a’ their mockery they canna dae
without’s,
Na they winna want the wark o’ the weavers.
Gin it wisnae for the weavers, etc.
Three Craws
Three craws sat upon a wa’,
Sat upon a wa’,
Sat upon a wa’,
Three craws sat upon a wa’
On a cold and frosty morning.
25
The first craw up and flew awa’,
Up and flew awa’,
Up and flew awa’,
The first craw up and flew awa’,
On a cold and frosty morning.
To the beggin’ I will go.
Gin I come on as I wid like
It’s I’ll come back and tell;
But gin the trade gaes backlins,
I’ll keep it to mysel',
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
To the beggin’ I will go.
The second craw fell and broke his jaw,
Fell and broke his jaw,
Fell and broke his jaw;
The second craw fell and broke his jaw,
On a cold and frosty morning.
Tramps and Hawkers
Oh come a’ ye tramps an’ hawker lads an’
gaitherers o’ blaw;
That tramps the country roon an’ roon, come listen
ane an’ a:
I’ll tell to you a rovin’ tale o’ the sichts that I hae
seen,
It’s far into the snowy North an’ south by Gretna
Green.
The third craw was greetin’ for his maw,
Was greetin’ for his maw,
Was greetin’ for his maw;
The third craw was greetin’ for his maw,
On a cold and frosty morning.
The fourth craw wasna’ there at a’,
Wasna’ there at a’,
Wasna’ there at a’;
The fourth craw wasna’ there at a’,
On a cold and frosty morning.
Aftimes I’ve laughed until mysel’ when traivlin’ on
the road,
Wi’ twa rags roon’ my twisted feet; my face as
broon’s a tod;
Wi’ lumps o’ cake an’ tattie scones, wi’ cheese an’
braxie ham,
Ne’er giein’ a thocht tae whaur I’ve been, nor less
to whaur I’m gaun.
To the Beggin’ I Will Go
If the beggin’ be as good a trade
As I have heard them say,
It’s time that I was on the road
And joggin’ doon the brae;
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
To the beggin’ I will go.
I’ve done my share o’ humpin’ wi’ the dockers on
the Clyde;
I helped the Buckie trawlers haul their herrin’ ower
the side;
I helped tae build the michty bridge that spans the
river Forth,
An’ wi’ many an Angus fairmer’s rig I’ve ploo’d
the bonny earth.
Afore that I do gang awa’
I’ll let my hair grow lang,
I will not pare my nails at a’
For the beggars wear them lang,
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
To the beggin’ I will go.
I’m happy in the simmertime beneath the bricht
blue sky;
Nae thinkin’ in the mornin’ whaur at nicht I’ll hae
tae lie;
In barn or byre or onywhaur lyin’ oot amang the
hay,
An’ if the weather treats me right, I’m happy every
day.
I’ll gang to the tailors,
They call him Arnie Gray;
I’ll gar him mak’ a coat to me
That will help me night and day,
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
To the beggin’ I will go.
And if there be a weddin’
And me chance to be there;
I’ll rise amang the weddin’ folk
And bless the happy pair,
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
To the beggin’ I will go.
I think I’ll gang tae Paddy’s land, I’m makin’ up
my mind;
For Scotland’s greatly altered noo, I canna raise the
wind;
But I will trust in Providence gin Providence
proves true,
An’ I’ll sing to ye o’ Erin’s Isle when I come back
tae you.
It’s some’ll gie me beef and breid,
And some’ll gie me cheese,
And out amang the weddin’ folk
I’ll gather up bawbees,
To the beggin’ I will go, will go,
Oh come a’ ye tramps an’ hawker lads an’
gaitherers o’ blaw;
That tramps the country roon an’ roon, come listen
ane an’ a:
26
I’ll tell to you a rovin’ tale o’ the sichts that I hae
seen,
It’s far into the snowy North an’ south by Gretna
Green.
Each honest, open-hearted friend,
And calm and quiet be his end,
And a’ that’s good watch o’er him;
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Peace and plenty, peace and plenty,
Peace and plenty be his lot,
And dainties a great store o’ them;
May peace and plenty be his lot,
Unstain’d by any vicious blot,
And may he never want a groat,
That’s fond of Tullochgorum.
Tullochgorum
Come, gie’s a sang, Montgomery cry’d,
And lay your disputes all aside,
What signifies’t for folks to chide
O’er what was done before them.
Let whig and tory a’ agree,
Whig and tory, whig and tory,
Whig and tory a’ agree
To drop their whigmigmorum;
Let whig and tory a’ agree
To spend the night wi’ mirth and glee,
And cheerfu’ sing alang wi’ me
The Reel o’ Tullochgorum.
But for the sullen, frumpish fool,
That loves to be oppression’s tool,
May envy gnaw his rotten soul,
And discontent devour him;
May dool and sorrow be his chance,
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow,
Dool and sorrow be his chance,
And nane say, Wae’s me for him!
May dool and sorrow be his chance
And a’ the ills that come frae France,
Wha e’er he be that winna dance
The Reel o’ Tullochgorum.
Tullochgorum is my delight,
It gars us a’ in ane unite,
And ony sumph that keeps up spite,
In conscience I abhor him.
It’s blythe and cheerie be’se we a’,
Blythe and cheerie, blythe and cheerie,
Blythe and cheerie be’se we a’,
And make a happy quorum.
It’s blythe and cheerie be’se we a’
As lang as we hae breath to draw,
And dance till we be like to fa’
The Reel o’ Tullochgorum.
Twa Recruiting Sergeants
Twa recruiting sergeants came frae the Black
Watch
Tae markets and fairs, some recruits for tae catch.
But a’ that they 'listed was forty and twa:
So list bonnie laddie an’ come awa.
What needs there mak’ sae great a fraise,
Wi’ dringing, dull Italian lays,
I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys
For half a hunder score o’ them;
They’re dowf and dowie at the best,
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie,
Dowf and dowie at the best,
Wi’ a’ their variorum.
They’re dowf and dowie at the best,
Their allegros and a’ the rest,
They canna please a Scottish taste
Compar’d wi’ Tullochgorum.
And it’s over the mountain and over the main,
Through Gibraltar, to France and Spain.
Get a feather tae your bonnet, and a kilt aboon
your knee,
And list bonnie laddie and come awa’ wi’ me.
Oh laddie ye dinna ken the danger that yer in,
If yer horses was to fleg, and yer owsen was to rin,
This greedy auld fairmer wadna pay yer fee.
Sae list bonnie laddie and come awa’ wi' me
And it’s over the mountain and over the main,
etc.
It’s into the barn and out o’ the byre,
This auld fairmer, thinks ye’ll never tire
It’s slavery life o’ low degree,
Sae list bonnie laddie and come awa’ wi’ me.
And it’s over the mountain and over the main,
etc.
Let wardly minds themselves oppress
Wi’ fears o’ want and double cess,
And sullen sots themsells distress
Wi’ keeping up decorum;
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky,
Sour and sulky shall we sit
Like auld philosophorum?
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit,
Wi’ neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit,
Nor ever try to shak’ a fit
To the Reel o’ Tullochgorum?
With your tattie poorins and yer meal and kail,
Yer soor sowan soorins and yer ill-brewed ale,
Wi’ yer buttermilk and whey, and yer breid fired
raw,
Sae list bonnie laddie and come awa’.
And it’s over the mountain and over the main,
etc.
May choicest blessings aye attend
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And fades away like the morning dew;
O, wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true-love has me forsook,
And ne’er will twine we me nae mair.
O laddie if ye’ve got a sweetheart and bairn,
Ye’ll easily get rid o’ that ill-spun yarn;
Twa rattles o’ the drum, and that’ll pay it a’,
Sae list bonnie laddie and come awa’.
And it’s over the mountain and over the main,
etc.
When we came in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel’ in cramasie.
It’s nae the frost that freezes fell,
Nor yet the snaw’s inclemencie;
It’s nae sic cauld that gars me greet,
But my true love grown cauld to me.
Waltzing Matilda
Once a jolly swagman sat beside the billabong,
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he sat and waited till his billy
boiled
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me
Gin I had wist afore I kiss’t
That love had been sae ill to win,
I’d lock’d my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn’d it wi’ a siller pin.
It’s oh if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I mysel’ were dead and gone,
And the green grass growin’ ower me.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me;’
And he sang as he sat and waited till his billy
boiled
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me@.
Down came a jumbuck to drink beside the
billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and seized him with glee;
And he sang as he tucked jumbuck in his
tuckerbag,
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda’, etc.
The Wee Toon Clerk
Young Mysie she gaed up the street
Some white fish for to buy;
And the wee toon clerk he heard her step
And followed her on the sly.
Down came the stockman, riding on his
thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three.
‘Where's the jolly jumbuck you’ve got in your
tuckerbag?
You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.’
Waltzing Matilda, etc.
Ricky doo dum day, doo dum day,
Ricky-dicky doo dum day.
‘O whaur do you bide my bonny lass,
I pray you tell to me;
For gin the night were ne’er sae mirk,
I would come and visit thee.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
Up jumped the swagman and plunged into the
billabong,
‘You'll never take me alive,’ cried he;
And his ghost may be heard as you ride beside the
billabong,
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.
Waltzing Matilda, etc.
My father he aye locks the door
My mither keeps the key;
Gin ye were ne’er say wily a wight
Ye canna win in to me.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
It’s I will get a ladder made
Fu’ thirty steps and three;
And I’ll climb up to the chimla tap
And then come doon to thee.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
O waly waly
O, waly, waly up the bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
I leaned my back against an aik,
And thocht it was a trusty tree,
But first it bow’d and syne it brak,
And sae did my true love tae me.
The clerk he has a true brither
And a wily wicht was he;
And he has made a ladder lang
Fu’ thirty steps and three.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
O waly, waly but love is bonnie
A little time while it is new,
But when it’s auld it waxes cauld
He’s made a cleek but and a creel
A creel but and a pin;
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And he’s awa to the chimla tap
And he’s latten the wee clerk in.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
A’ for Scotland's King and law.
Will ye no come back again? etc.
Sweet the laverock’s note and lang,
Liltin’ wildly up the glen.
But aye the ourcome o’ the sang,
Was ‘Will ye no' come back again?’
Will ye no come back again? etc.
The auld wife couldna sleep that nicht
Though late, late was the hour;
I’ll lay my life, quo’ the silly auld wife
There’s a man in our dochter’s bower.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
Willie Brew’d A Peck O’ Maut
The auld wife she gat up hersel
To see if the thing was true;
But what the wrack took her fit in the dark
For into the creel she fell.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
O, Willie brewed a peck o’ maut,
And Rob and Allan cam to prie,
Three blyther hearts that lee-lang night
Ye wadna found in Christendie.
The man that was at the chimla tap
Findin’ the creel was fu’
He wrappit the rope his elbow round
And fast to him he drew.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
We are na fou, we’re nae that fou,
But just a drappie in our e’e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And ay we’ll taste the barley-bree.
Here are we met three merry boys,
Three merry boys I trow are we;
And monie a night we’ve merry been,
And monie mae we hope to be.
We are na fou, etc.
Oh help, oh help, my hinny now
Oh help my hinny doo;
For him that he hae wished me at
Has carried me aff jist noo.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie,
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But, by my sooth, she’ll wait a wee!
We are na fou, etc.
O gin the foul thief’s gotten ye wife
I wish he may keep his haud;
For a’ the lee lang winter’s nicht
You’ll never lie in your bed.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he;
Wha first beside his chair shall fa’,
He is the King amang us three.
We are na fou, etc.
He’s tow’d her up, he’s tow’d her doon
He’s let the creel down fa’;
Till every rib in the auld wife’s side
Played nick nack on the wa’.
Ricky doo dum day, etc.
Will Ye No Come Back Again?
Willie’s Gane to Melville Castle
Bonnie Chairlie’s noo awa’,
Safely ower the friendly main;
Mony a heart will break in twa’,
Should he ne’er come back again.
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo’ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?
O, Willie’s gane to Melville Castle,
Boots an’ spurs an’ a’,
He kissed the lassies a’ fareweel
Afore he ga’ed awa’;
Willie’s young and Willie’s bonnie,
Lo’ed by ane and a’,
Oh what will a’ the lassies dae
When Willie gaes awa?
The first he met was Lady Kate,
She led him through the ha’,
An’ wi’ a sad and sorry heart
She loot the tear doon fa.
Beside the fire stood Lady Grace,
Said ne’er a word ava;
She thocht that she was sure o’ him
Before he gaed awa’.
When ere I here the blackbird sing,
Unto the evenings sinking down;
Or merle that makes the woods to ring,
To me there is nae ither sound.
Will ye no come back again? etc.
Mony’s the gallant soldier fought,
Mony’s the gallant chief did fall,
Death itself was dearly bought,
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O, Willie’s gane to Melville Castle,
Boots an’ spurs an’ a’, etc.
He ca’d for help tae Glesca, they nearly chowed his
ear;
‘We’ve got the ’Gers an’ Celtic demonstrators
here’.
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here,’ etc.
Then ben the house cam’ Lady Bell,
‘Gude troth ye need na craw,
Maybe the lad will fancy me,
And disappoint ye a’;’
Doun the stair tripped Lady Jean,
The flower amang them a’,
‘O lasses trust in Providence
An’ ye’ll get husbands a’.’
O, Willie’s gane to Melville Castle, etc.
He telephoned the sodgers, but didna mak’ it clear;
The sodgers sent doon Andy Stewart tae volunteer.
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here,’ etc.
He radioed the White Hoose but a’ that he could
hear,
Was ‘two, one zero’ and the set went queer.
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here,’ etc.
When on his horse he turn’d awa’
They gathered round the door,
He waved tae them his bonnet blue,
They set up sic a roar;
Their cries, their tears brocht Willie back,
He kissed them ane an’ a’,
‘O lasses bide till I come hame
And then I’ll wed ye a’.’
O, Willie’s gane to Melville Castle, etc.
For Jack had drapped the H-bomb and gied himsel
a shroud,
An’ he met wi’ Billy Graham on a wee white
cloud.
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here,’ etc.
Ye Cannae Shove Yer Granny Aff a Bus
Oh, ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus,
Oh ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus,
Ye cannae shove yer granny, for she’s yer
mammy’s mammy,
Ye cannae shove yer granny aff a bus.
Ye can shove yer ither granny aff a bus,
Ye can shove yer ither granny aff a bus.
You can shove yer other granny, for she’s yer
daddy’s mammy,
Ye can shove yer other granny aff a bus.
Ye’ll no sit here
Doon at Ardnadam, sittin’ at the pier,
When I heard the polis shout ‘Ye’ll no sit here’
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here;’
‘Aye but I will,’
‘Na but ye’ll no,’
‘Aye, but I will sit here.’
’Twas chief inspector Runcie, enhancin’ his career
Prancin’ up and doon the road like Yogi Bear.
‘Aye, but I will sit here;’
‘Naw, but ye’ll no sit here, etc.’
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