Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The First Bawbee

The First Bawbee.

Oh nane, I trow, in a' the earth Was happier than me,When in my wee breek pouch I got My first bawbee.

I turned it roun' and roun' wi' pride, Syne toddled aff wi' glee,To ware on something that was good My first bawbee.

I met auld grannie at the door; "Noo, Bab," says she, "tak' careNae feckless whigmaleeries buy Whan you gang to the fair.

"A gaucy row, a soncy scone, Is best for ane that's wee,For muckle lies in hoo you ware Your first bawbee."

My grannie's words were soon forgot When to the Fair I gaed,An' saw sae mony fairhes there On ilka staun' arrayed.

I glowered at this and glanced at that Wi' roving, greedy e'e,Syne felt dumfounert hoo to ware My first bawbee.

Here apples lay in mony a creel, A' temp'in' to the view,An' pears and plooms, whase very looks Brocht water to my mou'.

An' there were toshed wee picture-books, A' spread oot nice to see;They seemed to say, "Come here and ware Your first bawbee."

I kenned the ane wid 'gust the gab, The ither tell me howCock Robin fell that waefu' day The sparrow drew his bow.

Them baith waesooks I couldna get, An' sae wi' tearfu' e'eI swithered lang on whilk to spen' My first bawbee.

At length a wheedlin' Eerish loon Began to brawl an' brag;Says he, "Come here, my little lad, An' try the lucky bag.

If you have but one copper got— For it you may get three;Shure, never venture never win— Come sport wi' your bawbee."

Sae at the bag I tried my luck; But hope was dang agee—A blank was mine, and sae I lost My first bawbee.

A tear cam' happin' ower my cheek, As sad I daundered hame,Wi' hunger tum'lin' up an' doun Like win' within my wame.

I telt auld grannie a' my tale; "You've gane far wrang," said she;"But muckle guid may yet come oot Your first bawbee."