Hallow fair (1)/Hallow Fair
THE HALLOW FAIR.
There's mony bra' Jockies and Jennies,
comes weel buskit into the fair,
Wi ribbons on their cockemonies,
and south o’ bra' flour in their hair;
Maggy, sae brawlie was buskit,
when Jockie was ty'd to his bride,
pownie was ne'er better whisket,
wi' a cudgel that hung by his side.
Sing fal de ral, fa de.
But Willie the muirland laddie,
was mounted on a gray cowt,
Wi' his sword by his side like a cadie,
to ca' in the sheep and the nowt:
Sae nicely his doublets did fit him,
they scarcely cam down to mid-thie,
Wi' weel powder'd hair, hat and feather,
wi’ houzen, curple and (illegible text)ie.
Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Maggie grew wondrous jealous,
to see Willie baskit to bra',
An’ Wattie he sat in the ale house,
and hard at the bicker did ca'
Sae nicely as Maggie sat by him ;
he took the pint-stoup in his arms;,
Quo’ he, I think they’re right saucy,
that lo’es na good father's bairns.
Sing fal de ral, la de.
But now it grew ia'e i' the eening,
and bughting time was drawing near;
The lasses had stanch'd a’ their greening,
wi’south o’ bra' apples and pears;
There's Tibbie, and Sibbie, and Lillie,
whaweel on the spindle can spin,
Stood glowring at sig(illegible text)s and glass winnocks,
but fiend a ane bade them come in.
Sing fal de ral, la de.
Gosh guides did you e’er see the like o't,
sea yonders a bonny black swan,
It looks as it fain wou’d be at us
what's yon that it has in it’s han’ ?
Awa’ daft gowk, quo Wattie,
it's nane but a rickle o’ sticks,
See here’s the deil and Beil Hawkie,
and yonder's Mess James and Auld Nick,
Sing fal de ral, la de.
But Bruckie play'd boo to Bawsie,
and aff gaed ths cowt like the win'
Poor Willie he fell i’ the cawsie
and birzed a' the banes in his skin;
The pistols fell out o' the holsters
and were a’ bedaubed wi’ dirt,
The folks ran about him in clusters,
some leugh, and said Lad are ye hurt!
fal de ral, la de.
The cowt wad let nae body near him
he was ay sae wanton and skeegh.
The padler stanes he lap o'er them,
an’ gart a’ the fowk stan' abeegh;
We a‘ sneering behin’ and before him,
for sic is the mettle o' brutes,
Poor Wattie and waes me for him,
was forc’d to gang hame in his boots.
Sing fal de ral, la de.