And there'll be Sandie the souter,
And Will wi' the mickle mou';
And there'll be Tam the bluter,
And Andrew the tinkler, I trow.
And there'll be bow-leggit Robbie,
Wi' thumless Katie's gudeman;
And there'll be blue-cheekit Dobbie,
And Lawrie, the laird o' the land.
And there'll be sow-libber Patie,
And plookie-fac'd Wat o' the mill;
Capper-nosed Francie, and Gibbie,
That wins in the howe o' the hill.
And there'll be Alaster Sibbie,
That in wi' black Bessie did mool;
Wi' sneevlin' Lillie, and Tibbie,
The lass that sits aft on the stool.
And there'll be Judan Maclowrie,
And blinkin' daft Barbara Macleg;
Wi' flae-luggit shaienie-faced Lawrie,
And shangie-mou'd haluket Meg.
And there'll be happer-hipp'd Nancie,
And fairy-faced Flowrie by name,
Muck Maudie, and fat-luggit Grizzie,
The lass wi' the gowden wame.
And there'll be Girnagain Gibbie,
And his glaikit wife Jenny Bell,
And misle-shinn'd Mungo Macapie,
The lad that was skipper himsell.
There lads and lasses in pearlings
Will feast in the heart o' the ha';
On sybows, and reefarts, and carlins,
That are baith sodden and raw.
And there'll be fadges and brachen,
And fouth o' gude gabbocks o' skate,
Powsoudie, and drammock, and crowdie,
And caller nowt-feet on a plate:
And there'll be partens and buckles,
And whytens and speldins enew,
And singit sheep-heads and a haggis,
And scadlips to sup till ye spew.
And there'll be gude lapper-milk kebbucks,
And sowens, and farles, and baps,
Wi' swats and weel-scraped painches,
And brandy in stoups and in caups;
And there'll be meal-kail and kustocks,
Wi' skink to sup till ye rive;
And roasts to roast on a brander,
Of flouks that were taken alive.
Scrapped haddocks, wilks, dulse and tangle,
And a mill o' gude sneeshin' to prie;
When weary wi' eatin' and drinkin',
We'll rise up and dance till we dee.
Fy let us a' to the bridal,
For there'll be liltin' there,
For Jock's to be married to Maggie,
The lass wi' the gowden hair.
Hallow-fair.
["Hallow-fair," to the tune of "Fy, let us a' to the bridal," was written by the unfortunate Robert Fergusson, the distinguished precursor of Burns, and first printed in David Herd's collection of 1776. Hallow-fair is a fair held annually at Edinburgh.]
There's fouth o' braw Jockies and Jennies
Comes weel-buskit into the fair,
With ribbons on their cockernonies,
And fouth o' fine flour on their hair.
Maggie she was sae weel buskit,
That Willie was tied to his bride;
The pownie was ne'er better whisket
Wi' cudgel that hang frae his side.
But Maggie was wond'rous jealous,
To see Willie buskit sae braw;
And Sandy he sat in the alehouse,
And hard at the liquor did ca'.
There was Geordie, that weel looed his lassie,
He took the pint-stoup in his arms,
And hugged it, and said, Trouth they're saucie,
That loes na a guid-father's bairn.
There was Wattle, the muirland laddie,
That rides on the bonnie grey cowt,
With sword by his side like a cadie
To drive in the sheep and the nowt.
His doublet sae weel it did fit him,
It scarcely cam' down to mid-thie,
With hair pouthered, hat, and a feather,
And housing at curpen and tee.
But Bruckie played boo to Bassie,
And aff scoured the cout like the wind:
Puir Wattie he fell on the caussey,
And birzed a' the banes in his skin.
His pistols fell out o' the hulsters,
And were a' bedaubed wi' dirt,
The folk they cam' round him in clusters;
Some leuch, and cried, Lad, was ye hurt?
