A rousty whittle to shear the kail,
And a timber-mell the bear to knock,
Twa shelfs made of an auld fir-dale:
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock?
A furm, a furlet, and a peck,
A rock, a reel, and a wheel-band,
A tub, a barrow, and a seek,
A spurtle-braid, and an elwand.
Then Jock took Jenny by the hand,
And cry'd, A feast! and slew a cock,
And made a bridal upo' land,
Now I ha'e got your Jenny, quo' Jock.
Now dame, I have your dochter married,
And tho' ye mak' it ne'er sae rough,
I let you wit she's nae miscarried,
It's well kend I ha'e gear enough:
An auld gawd gloyd fell owre a heugh,
A spade, a speet, a spur, a sock:
Withouten owsen I have a pleugh:
May that no ser your Jenny, quo' Jock?
A t'reen truncher, a ram-horn spoon,
Twa bits of barket blasint leather,
A graith that ganes to coble shoon,
And a thrawcruck to twyne a teather.
Twa crocks that moup amang the heather,
A pair of branks and a fetter lock,
A teugh purse made of a swine's blether,
To haud your tocher, Jenny, quo' Jock.
Good elding for our winter fire,
A cod of caff wad fill a cradle,
A rake of iron to claut the byre,
A deuk about the dubs to paddle;
The pannel of an auld led-saddle,
And Rob my eem hecht me a stock,
Twa lusty lips to lick a laiddle,
May this no gane your Jenny, quo' Jock?
A pair of hems and brechom fine,
And without bitts a bridle renzie,
A sark made of the linkome-twine,
A grey green cloke that will not stenzie;
Mair yet in store—I needna fenzie,
Five hundred flaes, a fendy flock;
And are not thae a wakrife menzie,
To gae to bed with Jenny and Jock?
Tak' thir for my part of the feast,
It is well known I am weel bodin':
Ye needna say my part is least,
Were they as meikle as they're lodin'.
The wife speer'd gin the kail was sodin,
When we have done, tak' hame the brok,
The roast was tough as raploch hodin,
With which they feasted Jenny and Jock.
Hey, Jenny.
[This song, to the old tune of "Hey, Jenny, com' down to Jock, has been introduced with success on the Edinburgh stage. It is slightly altered and abridged from the copy which appears in Herd's collection of 1776.]
Jockie he came here to woo,
Wi' tartan plaid, and bonnet blue,
And Jenny pat on her best array,
When she heard that Jocky had come that way.
Jenny she gaed up the stair;
For Jenny was blate afore unco folk;
And aye sae loud as her mither did rare,
"Hey, Jenny, come down to Jock."
Jenny she came down the stair,
And she cam' bobbin' and beckin' ben;
Her stays they were laced, and her wast it was jimp,
And a braw new-made manco gown.
Jockie took her by the hand
"O, Jenny! can ye fancy me?
My father's dead, and has left me some land,
And braw houses twa or three—
And I will gi'e them a' to thee."
"A haith!" quo' Jenny, "I fear you mock."
"Then, foul fa' me, gin I scorn thee;
If ye'll be my Jenny, I'll be your Jock."
Jenny she gaed up the gate,
Wi' a green gown as side as her smock;
And aye sae loud as her mither did rair
"Vow, sirs! hasna Jenny got Jock!"
Maggie's Tocher.
[Another old song marked by Ramsay in his Tea-Table Miscellany with a Z.]
The meal was dear short syne,
We buckled us a' thegither;
And Maggie was in her prime,
