She to the door made anxious haste,
And ca'd young Jeanie in, O,
And when aroun' the fire they're placed,
The courtin' did begin, O.
For he had vow'd, &c.
The wee auld man tauld ower his tale
Wi' croose and cantie glee, O;
But Jeanie's heart was hard and cauld,
Nae love for him had she, O.
Said she, Auld gouk! you've act a part
That I can ne'er be thine, O;
You come to woo my mither's heart,
You come nae here for mine, O.
For this is no the way, O,
The way, O, the way, O,
For this is no the way, O,
A lassie's heart to win, O.
And soon a rap came to the door,
And out young Jeanie ran, O,
Said she, You may count ower your store
Wi' them that you began, O.
The wee auld man rose up in Wrath,
And loud and lang he swore, O,
Syne hirsled up his shouthers baith,
And hasten'd to the door, O.
Still vowin' he would ha'e, O, &c.
The guid, guid wife.
[Air, "Highland laddie."]
To ha'e a wife and rule a wife,
Taks a wise man, taks a wise man;
But to get a wife to rule a man,
O that ye can, O that ye can;
So the wife that's wise we aye maun prize,
For they're few ye ken, they're scarce ye ken;
O Solomon says ye'll no fin' ane,
In hundreds ten, in hundreds ten.
When a man's wed, it's often said,
He's aye o'er blate, he's aye o'er blate;
He strives to improve his first calf luve,
When it's o'er late, when it's o'er late.
Ye maun daut o' them and mak' o' them,
Else they'll tak' the barley-hood, the barley-hood;
Gin the hinny-moon wad ne'er gang dune,
They wad aye be guid, they wad aye be guid.
Gin ye marry whan ye're auld,
Ye will get jeers, ye will get jeers;
An' if she be a bonnie lass,
Ye may get fears, ye may get fears;
For gin she's tall; when she grows baul,
She'll crack your croun, she'll crack your croun;
An' gif ye plea wi' ane that's wee;
She'll pu' ye doun, she'll pu' ye doun.
Sae he that gets a guid, guid wife,
Gets gear aneugh, gets gear aneugh;
An' he that gets an ill, ill wife,
Gets cares aneugh, gets fears aneugh;
A man may spen' an' ha'e to the en',
If his wife be ought, if his wife be ought:
But a man may spare an' aye be bare,
If his wife be nought, if his wife be nought.
A cogie o' yill.
[Written about the close of the last century by Andrew Sheriffs or Shirrefs, at one time editor of The Aberdeen Chronicle, and author of a Scottish pastoral, first printed at Aberdeen in 1787, and afterwards at Edinburgh in 1790, with the title of "Jamie and Bess." Sheriffs was by trade a bookbinder. Burns, in his third Northern Tour, speaks of him as "a little decrepid body, with some abilities." The air to the present song was composed by Robert Macintosh, an eminent violin player, who died in London in 1807.]
A cogie o' yill,
And a pickle aitmeal,
And a dainty wee drappie o' whiskey,
Was our forefathers' dose.
For to sweel down their brose,
And keep them aye cheery and frisky,
Then hey for the whiskey, and hey for the meal,
And hey for the cogie, and hey for the yill,
Gin ye steer a' thegither they'll do unco weel,
To keep a chiel cheery and brisk aye.
When I see our Scots lads,
Wi' their kilts and cockauds,
That sae aften ha'e lounder'd our foes, man;
I think to mysel',
On the meal and the yill,
And the fruits o' our Scottish kail brose, man.
Then hey, &c.
