8
But the bodral cam in roarin’ fou to Name,
Sayin’, John Paul, what want ye now wi’ Nanse?
Ye had better gae beek at your ain ingle cheek,
For I’ve offer’d mysel’ afore you to Nanse.
It’s a won’er to look at auld fools, John Paul,
Wha mauu soon hurkle down ’mang the mools, John Paul,
Soon the divots will swaird owre your head in my yaird,
Whan I’ve happit you up wi’ my shools, John Paul.
Confound your ill-breeding, gae out, quo’ Nanse,
Or the tangs I’ll bring owre your lang snout, quo' Nanse,
Ye’ll come here to scaul’, and to kick up a brawl,
Will ye e’er be a man like John Paul, quo’ Nanse.
Sae the bedrel did swagger out raging mad,
Misca’in the alewife for a’ that was bad,
While the neebors assembl’d to witness the brawl,
Sayin’, wha wad hae thought this o’ auld John Paul.
Sae they were cried, an’ buckled syne,
Tho weddin’ was a special shine,
Saxscore o’ neebours young and aul’,
Ate, drank, and danc’d wi’ auld John Paul.
They ranted and sang till the day did daw’,
E’er ane o’ the guests thought o’ gaun awa’,
An’ the fiddler swore nane shook a suppler spaul
On the floor the hale night than did auld John Paul.
