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The lasses a’, baith far and near,
Hae Heard o’ Rab the Ranter;
I'll snake my foot wi' right goodwill
Gin you’ll blaw up your enanter.
Then to his bags he flew wi‘ speed,
About the drone he twisted,
Meg up and wallop’d o’er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it;
Weel done, quoth he; play up. quo’ she;
Weel hobb'd, quoth Rab the Ranter,
Tis worth my while to play indeed,
When I hae sic a dancer.
Weel hae ye play’d your part, quo' Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crunson;
There’s nane in Scotland plays so weel.
Since we lost Habbie Simpson.
've liv’d in Fife baith masel and wife,
These ten years and a quarter;
Sin ye should come to Anster fair,
Speir ye for Maggie Lander.
THE EWE-BUGHTS.
Will ye go to the ewe-bughts Marion,
