She has an ee, she has but ane, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin beard about her mou', Her nose and chin they threaten ither. She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, Auld baudrans by the ingle sits, An' wi' her loof her face a-washin ; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-water. Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gi'e a button for her. MY SPOUSE NANCY. BURNS. Air-"My jo Janet." HUSBAND, husband, cease your strife, Yet I am not your slave, sir. "One of two must still obey, Nancy, Nancy; Is it man or woman, say, My spouse Nancy?" If 'tis still the lordly word, "Sad will I be so bereft, Yet I'll try to make a shift, My poor heart then break it must, When you lay me in the dust, "I will hope and trust in heaven, Strength to bear it will be given, Well, sir, from the silent dead "I'll wed another like my dear Then all hell will fly for fear, My spouse Nancy." "Your humorous English song to suit Jo Janet' is inimitable." Thomson, in a Letter to Burns. WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. BURNS. Air-" Whistle o'er the lave o't." FIRST When Maggie was my care, Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, How we live, my Meg and me, TO DAUNTON ME. Chiefly by Burns. THE bluid-red rose at Yule may blaw, For a' his meal, for a' his maut, For a' his gowd and white monie, An auld man shall never daunton me. His gear may buy him kye and yowes, He hirples twa-fauld, as he dow, Wi' his teethless gab and auld bauld pow, That auld man shall never daunton me. The original of this song will be found among "Hogg's Jacobite Relics." subject is a favourite one with the early and later Scottish song-writers. The DUNCAN GRAY. BURNS. DUNCAN Gray cam' here to woo, Ha, ha, the wooing o't, On blythe Yule night when we were fu', Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Maggie coost her head fu' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and blin', Spak o' lowpin o'er a linn, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Time and chance are but a tide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Slighted love is sair to bide, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, For a haughty hizzie dee? She may gae to-France for me! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. How it comes let.doctors tell, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Meg grew sick as he grew well, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Something in her bosom wrings, For relief a sigh she brings; And, oh, her een they speak sic things! Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Duncan was a lad o' grace, Ha, ha, the wooing o't; Maggie's was a piteous case, Ha, ha, the wooing o't: Duncan could na be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith, Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Founded upon an old and licentious ballad of the same name, but having nothing in common with it but the chorus and the title. "Duncan Gray," says Burns to Thomson, "is that kind of light-horse gallop of an air which precludes sentiment. The ludicrous is its ruling feature." "Duncan," says Thomson in reply, "is a lad of grace, and his humour will endear him to every body." The Hon. A. Erskine, in a letter to the poet, says, "Duncan Gray possesses native genuine humour. lowpin o'er a linn,' is a line that of itself should make you immortal." Spak o' CONTENTIT WI' LITTLE. BURNS. Air-" Lumps o' pudding." CONTENTED Wi' little and cantie wi' mair, I gi'e them a skelp, as they're creeping alang, I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought; My mirth and good humour are coin in my pouch, A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way; |