Wha was't ne'er put aith to word,
Never fleech'd to duke or lord,
Never sat at sinfa' board?—
The honest Laird o' Lamington.
He that cheats can ne'er be just;
He that lies is ne'er to trust;
He that drinks to drauk his dust,
Wha can say that wrang is done?
Wha was't ne'er to fraud inclined?
Never lied sin' he could mind?
Ane whase drouth there's few can find?—
The honest Laird o' Lamington!
I like a man to tak' his glass,
Toast his friend and bonnie lass;
He that winna is an ass—
Deil send him ane to gallop on!
I like a man that's frank and kind,
Meets me when I ha'e a mind,
Sings his sang and drinks me blind,
Like the honest Laird o' Lamington.
Auld Gudeman.
[Written by Sir Alexander Boswell to the old tune called "The East Neuk o' Fife," and inserted in Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland.]
Auld gudeman, ye're a drucken carle, drucken carle;
A' the lang day ye wink and drink, and gape and gaunt;
O' sottish loons ye're the pink and pearl, pink and pearl,
Ill-far'd, doited ne'er-do-weel.
Hech, gudewife! ye're a flyting body, fiyting body;
Will ye ha'e; but, guid be praised, the wit ye want.
The puttin' cow should be aye a doddy, ayca doddy.
Mak' na sic an awsome reel.
Ye're a sow, auld man:
Ye get fou, auld man:
Fye for shame, auld man,
To your wame, auld man:
Pinch'd I win, wi' spinnin' tow,
A plack to cleid your back and pow.
It's a lie, gudewife.
It's your tea, gudewife,
Na, na, gudewife,
Ye spend a', gudewife.
Dinna fa’ on me pell mell,
Ye like the drap fu' weel yoursell.
Ye's rue, auld gowk, your jest and frolic, jest and frolic.
Dare ye say, goose, I ever liked to tak' a drappy?
An 'twerena just to cure the cholic, cure the cholic,
Deil a drap wad weet my mou'.
Troth, gudewife, an' ye wadna swither, wadna swither,
Soon to tak' a cholic, when it brings a drap o' cappy.
But twascore years we ha'e fought thegither, fought thegither;
Time it is to gree, I trow.
I'm wrang, auld John
Ower lang, auld John,
For nought, gude John,
We ha'e fought, gude John;
Let's help to bear ilk ither's weight,
We're far ower feckless now to fight.
Ye're richt, gude Kate;
The nicht, gude Kate,
Our cup, gude Kate,
We'll sup, gude Kate;
Thegither frae this hour we'll draw,
And toom the stoup atween us twa.
Fare ye weel, my Auld Wife.
[Printed in the 2d vol. of Herd's collection, 1776. It is also given, with the criminal music, in the 4th vol. of Johnson's Museum.]
And fare ye weel, my auld wife;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum;
Fare ye weel, my auld wife;
Sing bum, bum, bum.
Fare ye weel, my auld wife,
The steerer up o' sturt and strife.
The maut 's abune the meal the nicht,
Wi' some, some, some.
And fare ye weel, my pike-staff;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum:
Fare ye weel, my pike-staff;
Sing bum, bum, bum.
Fare ye weel, my pike-staff,
Wi' you nae mair my wife I'll baff;
The maut 's abune the meal the nicht,
Wi' some, some some.
