Bring a’ your maut.
[The opening verse, at least, of this song is old, as it occurs in a manuscript of the seventeenth century, which at one time belonged to Mr. Constable, the eminent Edinburgh bookseller. The other verses are probably also of some antiquity, although they cannot be traced in any of the early collections. They are given by Mr. R. Chambers from oral tradition. "The Maltman" is the name of a song to be found in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, written by Ramsay himself, after an ancient ditty, but too deeply imbued with the license of old times to admit of extract here.]
Bring a' your maut to me,
Bring a' your maut to me;
My draff ye'se get for ae pund ane,
Though a' my deukies should dee.
Some say that kissing 's a sin,
But I think it's nane ava,
For kissing has wonn'd in this warld,
Since ever that there was twa.
O, if it wasna lawfu',
Lawyers wadna allow it;
If it was na holy,
Ministers wadna do it.
If it wasna modest,
Maidens wadna tak' it;
If it wasna plenty,
Puir folk wadna get it!
John Grumlie.
[This song, which Allan Cunningham says is "a favourite among the peasantry of Nithsdale," seems to be founded on the well-known old Scottish poem, called "The Wife of Auchtermuchty."]
John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon,
And the green leafs on the tree,
That he could do more work in a day
Than his wife could do in three.
His wife rose up in the morning
Wi' cares and troubles enow—
John Grumlie bide at hame, John,
And I'll go haud the plow.
First ye maun dress your children fair,
And put them a' in their gear;
And ye maun turn the malt, John,
Or else ye'll spoil the beer:
And ye maun reel the tweel, John,
That I span yesterday;
And ye maun ca' in the hens, John,
Else they'll all lay away.
O he did dress his children fair,
And put them a' in their gear;
But he forgot to turn the malt,
And so he spoil'd the beer:
And he sang loud as he reeled the tweel
That his wife span yesterday;
But he forgot to put up the hens,
And the hens all layed away.
The hawket crummie loot down nae milk;
He kirned, nor butter gat;
And a' gade wrang, and nought gade right:
He danced with rage, and grat;
Than up he ran to the head o' the knowe
Wi' mony a wave and shout—
She heard him as she heard him not,
And steered the stots about.
John Grumlie's wife cam hame at e'en,
A weary wife and sad,
And burst into a laughter loud,
And laughed as she'd been mad;
While John Grumlie swore by the light o' the moon
And the green leafs on the tree.
If my wife should na win a pennie a day,
She's aye have her will for me.
The Widow’s Dream.
[Thomas Dodd.—Here first printed.]
How sweet was my dream! When the morning did break on't,
The sun was a sad sight to me;
If frae that bright vision I never had waken'd,
My spirit wi' Jamie's wad be.
