Jockie's ta'en the parting kiss.
[Burns.—Written for the Museum, to the old tune of "Bonnie lassie, tak' a man."]
Jockie's ta'en the parting kiss,
Ower the mountains he is gane;
And with him is a' my bliss;
Nought but griefs wi' me remain.
Spare my love, ye winds that blaw,
Plashy sleets, and beating rain!
Spare my love, thou feathery snaw,
Drifting o'er the frozen plain!
When the shades of evening creep
Ower the day's fair gladsome e'e,
Sound and safely may he sleep,
Sweetly blythe his waukening be!
He will think on her he loves,
Fondly he'll repeat her name;
For, where'er he distant roves,
Jockie's heart is still at hame.
"I canna be fashed."
[Edward Polin, late of Paisley, now connected with "The Edinburgh Weekly Chronicle" Newspaper.—Here first printed.]
The deil's in the hizzies,
Thae lassies o' mine!—
Though there's a' things to do,
Baith the rough wark an' fine;
Though the breid's a' to bake,
An' the claes maun be washed,
There they'll sit an' they'll tell me
They "canna be fashed!"
Was ever the like o't?—
Sic gentle affairs!
Na! the jauds are gane gyte
Wi' their braws an' their airs;
My certes! I think
Wi' the tangs I'd been smashed,
Gin I'd said to my mither,
"I canna be fashed!"
But noo the bit lassocks
Ha'e grown sae genteel,
Wi' their books an' pianos
For seams an' the wheel;
Gin ye ask them to help ye,
Just hear hoo your snashed—
"'Deed, mither, I tell you
I canna be fashed!"
An' then there's sic wailing
For phrases sae fine,
That they're a' liker ledies
Than dochters o' mine;
But suns whan at hame
A' sic clavers are quashed,
For Scotch-like they'll tell me
They "canna be fashed."
Wi' their veils an' their earrings,
An' boas—keep me!
The pride o' thae lassies
It's awfu' to see.
Mak' them ledies indeed!
Na, their chaffs should be clashed,
Whan they offer to tell me
They "canna be fashed!"
But bide ye awee
Till the tawpies get men,
An' maun e'en gang their wa's
To their ain butt an' ben,—
An' ha'e bairnies wha greet
Till they're baith fed an' washed,
We'll see gin they'll cry then
They "canna be fashed!"
Hap and Row.
[William Creech.—Tune "The Reel o' Stumpie."—Mr. Creech (born 1745; died 1815,) was for many years a leading bookseller in Edinburgh. He was Burns's publisher there; and the reader will find in the poet's works some letters addressed to him; also a poem of which he is the subject, called "Willie's awa'." He was author of a collection of essays and sketches, called "Edinburgh Fugitive Pieces," originally printed in 1791, and reprinted after his death, in 1815.]
We'll hap and row, we'll hap and row,
We'll hap and row the feetie o't;
It is a wee bit weary thing:
I downa bide the greetie o't.
