Drest up just like the knave o'clubs,
A thing came neist, (but life has rubs,)
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,
And jaupit a' was he.
He danced up, squinting through a glass,
And grinn'd, "I' faith, a bonnie lass!"
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
She bade the Laird gae kame his wig.
The Sodger no to strut sae big,
The Lawyer no to be a prig,
The Fool he cried, "Tehee!
I kenn'd that I could never fail!"
But she preen'd the dishclout to his tail,
And soused him in the water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
Then Johnnie cam', a lad o' sense,
Although he had na mony pence;
And took young Jenny to the spence,
Wi' her to crack a wee.
Now Johnnie was a clever chiel;
And here his suit he press'd sae weel,
That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,
And she birled her bawbee.
III.
[This is another set of verses to the old tune of "Jenny's Bawbee," and is directed to be sung slow. It is said to be the composition of a clergyman in Galloway, and was first printed in Robert Chambers' collection of "Scottish Songs," Edinburgh, 1827.]
When gloamin o'er the welkin steals,
And brings the ploughman frae the fiel's,
Oh, Jenny's cot, amang the shiels,
Is aye the hame to me.
To meet wi' her my heart is fain,
And parting gi'es me meikle pain;
A queen and throne I would disdain
For Jenny's ae bawbee.
Tho' braws she has na mony feck,
Nae riches to command respec',
Her rosy lip and lily neck
Mair pleasure gi'e to me.
I see her beauties, prize them a',
Wi' heart as pure as new-blawn snaw;
I'd prize her cot before a ha',
Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee.
Nae daisy, wi' its lovely form,
Nor dew-drap shining frae the corn,
Nor echo frae the distant horn,
Is half sae sweet to me!
And if the lassie were my ain,
For her I'd toil through wind and rain,
And gowd and siller I would gain
Wi' Jenny's ae bawbee.
Tibbie Fowler.
[In the Tea-Table Miscellany, Ramsay has a song "to the tune of Tibbie Fowler in the Glen," which proves that the air, at least, is old. A fragment of the words is given in Herd's collection of 1776, but the first complete copy appeared in the 5th vol. of Johnson's Museum. The authorship has been ascribed to a "Rev. Dr. Strachan, late minister of Carnwath;" but David Laing says that there has been no minister of Carnwath of that name for at least the last three hundred years.]
Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen,
There's ower mony wooing at her;
Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen,
There's ower mony wooing at her.
Wooin' at her, pu'in' at her,
Courtin' her, and canna get her;
Filthy elf, it's for her pelf
That a' the lads are wooin' at her.
Ten cam' east, and ten cam' west;
Ten cam' rowin' ower the water;
Twa cam' down the lang dyke-side:
There's twa-and-thirty wooin' at her.
There's seven but, and seven ben,
Seven in the pantry wi' her;
Twenty head about the door:
There's ane-and forty wooin' at her'
She's got pendles in her lugs;
Cockle-shells wad set her better!
High-heel'd shoon, and siller tags,
{gap|1em}}And a' the lads are wooin' at her.
Be a lassie e'er sae black,
Gin she ha'e the name o' siller,
Set her up on Tintock tap,
The wind will blaw a man till her.
