The last Hallowe'en I was waukin'
My drookit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam' up the house staukin',
And the very gray breeks o' Tam Glen.
Come, counsel, dear tittle, don't tarry;
I'll gi'e you my bonnie black hen,
Gif ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.
The Carle.
[From Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. There is an older version of the same song given in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, published in 1725.]
The carle he cam' ower the craft,
Wi' his beard new-shaven;
He looked at me as he'd been daft,—
The carle trowed that I wad ha'e him.
Hout awa'! I winna ha'e him!
Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him!
For a' his beard new-shaven,
Ne'er a bit o' me will ha'e him.
A siller brooch he ga'e me neist,
To fasten on my curchie nookit.
I wore 't a wee upon my breist,
But soon, alake! the tongue o't crookit;
And sae may his; I winna ha'e him!
Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him!
Twice-a-bairn's a lassie's jest;
Sae ony fool for me may ha'e him.
The carle has nae fault but ane;
For he has land and dollars plenty;
But, waes me for him, skin and bane
Is no for a plump lass of twenty.
Hout awa', I winna ha'e him!
Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him!
What signifies his dirty riggs,
And cash, without a man wi' them?
But should my cankert daddie gar
Me tak' him 'gainst my inclination,
I warm the fumbler to beware
That antlers dinna claim their station.
Hout awa'! I winna ha'e him!
Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him!
I'm fleyed to crack the holy band,
Sae lawty says, I should na hae him.
The Wanton Wife.
[Allan Cunningham.]
Nith, trembling to the reaper's sang,
Warm glitter'd in the harvest sun,
And murmured down the lanesome glen,
Where a wife of wanton wit did won.
Her tongue wagged wi' unhaly wit,
Unstent by kirk or gospel bann,
An' aye she wished the kirkyard mools
Green growing o'er her auld gudeman.
Her auld gudeman drapped in at e'en,
Wi' harvest heuk—sair toiled was he;
Sma' was his cog and cauld his kail,
Yet anger never raised his e'e;
He blessed the little, and was blithe,
While spak' the dame, wi' clamorous tongue,
O sorrow clap your auld beid pow,
And dance wi' ye to the mools, gudeman!
He hang his bonnet on the pin,
And down he lay, his dool to drie;
While she sat singing in the neuk,
And tasting at the barley bree.
The lark, 'mid morning's siller gray,
That wont to cheer him warkward gaun,
Next morning missed amang the dew
The blithe and dainty auld gudeman.
The third morn's dew on flower and tree
'Gan glorious in the sun to glow,
When sung the wanton wife to mark
His feet gaun foremost o'er the knowe.
The first flight o' the winter's rime
That on the kirkyard sward had faun,
The wanton wife skiffed aff his grave,
A-kirking wi' her new gudeman.
A dainty dame I wat was she,
High brent and burnished was her brow,
'Mang lint-locks curling; and her lips
Twin daisies dawned through honey dew.
And light and loesome in the dance,
When ha' was het, or kirn was won;
Her breasts twa drifts o' purest snaw,
In cauld December's bosom faun.
But lang ere winter's winds blew by,
She skirled in her lonesome bow;
Her new gudeman, wi' hazle rung,
