I ha'e a calf will soon be a cow,
Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now!
I ha'e a pig will soon be a sow,
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I've a house on yonder muir,
Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now!
Three sparrows may dance upon the floor,
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I ha'e a but, an' I ha'e a ben,
Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now!
I ha'e three chickens an' a fat hen,
An' I canna come ony mair to woo.
I've a hen wi' a happity leg,
Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now!
Which ilka day lays me an egg,
An' I canna come ilka day to woo.
I ha'e a kebbuck upon my shelf,
Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now!
I downa eat it a' myself;
An' I winna come ony mair to woo.
Patie's Wedding.
[This song, once popular among the peasantry of Scotland, was first printed in the second edition of David Herd's collection, 1776, although it is older than that date. Nothing is known of the author. The tune used to be sung to an old doggrel, beginning,
We'll put the sheep-head in the pat,
Horns and a' thegither, &c.]
As Patie cam' up frae the glen,
Drivin' his wedders before him,
He met bonnie Meg ganging hame—
Her beauty was like for to smoore him.
Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken
That you and I's gaun to be married?
I had rather had broken my leg,
Before sic a bargain miscarried.
Patie, lad, wha tell'd ye that?
I trow o' news they've been scanty:
I'm nae to be married the year,
Though I should be courted by twenty!
Now, Maggie, what gars ye to taunt?
Is 't 'cause that I ha'ena a mailen?
The lad that has gear needna want
For neither a half nor a haill ane.
My dad has a gude grey meare,
And yours has twa cows and a filly;
And that will be plenty o' gear:
Sae, Maggie, be na sae ill-willy.
Weel, Patie, lad, I dinna ken;
But first ye maun speir at my daddie;
You're quite as weel born as Ben,
And I canna say but I'm ready.
We ha'e walth o' yarn in clews,
To mak' me a coat and a jimpey,
And plaidin' eneuch to be trews—
Gif I got ye, I shanna scrimp ye!
Now fair fa' ye, my bonnie Meg!
I'se e'en let a smackie fa' on ye:
May my neck be as lang as my leg,
If I be an ill husband unto ye!
Sae gang your ways hame e'en now;
Mak' ready gin this day fifteen days
And tell your father frae me,
I'll be his gude-son in great kindness.
Maggie s as blythe as a wran,
Bodin' the blast o' ill weather,
And a' the gaite singin' she ran,
To tell the news to her father.
But aye the auld man cried out,
He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday,
There's nae fear o' that, quo' Meg;
For I gat a kiss on the bounty.
And what was the matter o' that?
It was naething out o' his pocket,
I wish the news were true,
And we had him fairly bookit.
A very wee while after that,
Wha cam' to our biggin but Patie?
Bress'd up in a braw new coat,
And wow but he thocht himsel' pretty!
His bonnet was little frae new,
And in it a loop and a slittie,
To draw in a ribbon sae blue,
To bab at the neck o' his coatie.
Then Patie cam' in wi' a stend;
Cried, Peace be under the biggin!
You're welcome, quo' William, Come ben,
Or I wish it may rive frae the riggin'!
Now draw in your seat, and sit doun,
And tell's a' your news in a hurry;
And haste ye, Meg, and be dune,
And hing on the pan wi' the berry.
