My Peggy sings sae saftly.
And in her sangs are tauld,
Wi' innocence the wale o' sense,
At wauking o' the fauld.
The Ewe-Bughts.
[Both the words and the beautiful air of The Ewe-Bughts are of undoubted antiquity. They are given in the Orpheus Caledonius, published in 1725, but belong to a period considerably earlier. Ramsay, in his Tea Table Miscellany, marks the song with a Q, signifying that it was an old song with additions. Ramsay's additions were merely a trifling verbal alteration or two.]
Will ye gae to the ewe-buchts, Marion,
And wear in the sheep wi' me?
The sun shines sweet, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweet as thee.
O, Marion's a bonnie lass,
And the blythe blink 's in her e'e;
And fain wad I marry Marion,
Gin Marion wad marry me.
There's gowd in your garters, Marion,
And silk on your white hause-bane;
For fain wad I kiss my Marion,
At e'en, when I come hame.
There's braw lads in Farnslaw, Marion,
Wha gape, and glower wi' their e'e,
At kirk when they see my Marion,
But nane o' them lo'es like me.
I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion,
A cow and a brawny quey;
I'll gi'e them a' to my Marion,
Just on her bridal-day.
And ye'se get a green sey apron,
And waistcoat o' London broun;
And wow but ye'se be vap'rin'
Whene'er ye gang to the toun.
I'm young and stout, my Marion,
Nane dances like me on the green:
And, gin ye forsake me, Marion,
I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean.
Sae put on your pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle o' cramasie;
And, as sune as my chin has nae hair on,
I will come west, and see ye.
Will ye go to the Indies.
[This simple yet energetic song, to the tune of The Ewe-Bughts, was written by Burns in early life. He afterwards sent it to George Thomson for publication in his collection, and thus wrote of it:—"In my very early years, when I was thinking of going to the West Indies, I took the following farewell of a dear girl: it is quite trifling, and has nothing of the merit of the Ewe-Bughts. You must know that all my earlier love-songs were the breathings of ardent passion; and though it might have been easy in after times to have given them a polish, yet that polish to me would have defaced the legend of the heart which was so faithfully inscribed on them. Their uncouth simplicity was, as they say of wines, their race." Thomson did not at first see the beauty of Burns's words to the tune of the Ewe-Bughts, but afterwards adopted them in his collection.]
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave auld Scotia's shore?
Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary,
Across the Atlantic's roar?
Oh, sweet grow the lime and the orange,
And the apple on the pine;
But a' the charms o' the Indies
Can never equal thine.
I ha'e Sworn by the heavens, my Mary,
I ha'e sworn by the heavens to be true;
And sae may the heavens forget me,
When I forget my vow!
O, plight me your faith, my Mary,
And plight me your lily-white hand
O, plight me your faith, my Mary,
Before I leave Scotia's strand.
We ha'e plighted our troth, my Mary,
In mutual affection to join;
And curst be the cause that shall part us!
The hour and the moment o' time!
