I flang my cun wi' a' my micht,
And fellt his neepour teit, man;
Tan drew my swort, and at a straik
Hewt aff te haf o's heit, man.
Be vain to tell o' a' my tricks:
My oons pe nae tiscrace, man,
Ter no pe yin pehint my back,
Ter a' pefor my face, man.
Shon M'Nab.
[Alex. Rodger.—Tune,"For a' that and a' that."]
Nainsel pe Maister Shon M'Nab,
Pe auld's ta forty-five man,
And mony troll affairs she's seen,
Since she was born alive, man;
She's seen the warl' turn upside down,
Ta shentleman turn poor man,
And him was ance ta beggar loon,
Get knocker 'pon him's door, man.
She's seen ta stane bowt owre ta purn,
And syne be ca'd ta prig, man,
She's seen ta whig ta tory turn,
Ta tory turn ta whig, man;
But a' ta troll things she pe seen,
Wad teuk twa days to tell, man,
So, gin you likes, she'll told your shust
Ta story 'bout hersel, man:—
Nainsel was first ta herd ta kyes,
'Pon Morven's ponnie praes, man,
Whar tousand pleasant tays she'll spent,
Pe pu ta nits and slaes, man;
An' ten she'll pe ta herring-poat,
An' syne she'll pe fish-cod, man,
Ta place tey'll call Newfoundhims-land,
Pe far peyont ta proad, man.
But, och-hon-ee! one misty night,
Nainsel will lost her way, man,
Her poat was trown'd, hersel got fright,
She'll mind till dying day, man,
So fait! she'll pe fish-cod no more,
But back to Morven cam', man,
An' tere she turn ta whisky still,
Pe prew ta wee trap tram, man:
But foul pefa' ta gauger loon,
Pe put her in ta shail, man,
Whar she wad stood for mony a tay,
Shust 'cause she no got bail, man;
But out she'll got; nae matters hoo,
And came to Glasgow town, man,
Whar tousand wonders mhor she'll saw,
As she went up and down, man.
Ta first thing she pe wonder at,
As she cam' down ta street, man,
Was man's pe traw ta cart himsel,
Shust 'pon him's nain twa feet, man,
Och on! och on! her nainsel thought,
As she wad stood and glower, man,
Puir man! if they mak' you ta horse—
Should gang 'pon a' your four, man.
And when she turned ta corner round,
Ta black man tere she see, man,
Pe grund ta music in ta kist,
And sell him for pawpee, man;
And aye she'll grund, and grund, and grund,
And turn her mill about, man,
Pe strange! she will put nothing in,
Yet aye teuk music out, man.
And when she'll saw ta people's walk,
In crowds alang ta street, man,
She'll wonder whar tey a' got spoons
To sup teir pick o' meat, man;
For in ta place whar she was porn,
And tat right far awa', man,
Ta teil a spoon in a' ta house,
But only ane or twa, man.
She glower to see ta Mattams, too,
Wi' plack clout 'pon teir face, man,
Tey surely tid some graceless deed,
Pe in sic black disgrace, man;
Or else what for tey'll hing ta clout,
Owre prow, and check, and chin, man,
If no for shame to show teir face,
For some ungodly sin, man?
Pe strange to see ta wee bit kirn,
Pe jaw the waters out, man,
And ne'er rin dry, though she wad rin
A' tay like mountain spout, man;
Pe stranger far to see ta lamps,
Like spunkies in a raw, man;
A' pruntin pright for want o' oil,
And teil a wick ava, man.
Ta Glasgow folk be unco folk,
Ha'e tealings wi' ta teil, man,—
Wi' fire tey grund ta tait o' woo,
