Be a lassie e'er so fair,
An' she want the penny siller,
A flie may fell her in the air,
Before a man be even'd till her.
Genty Tibby.
[The following is Ramsay's song to the tune of "Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen." It resembles the same author's version of "Bessy Bell and Mary Gray," In the poet affecting to be in a dilemma as to which of two beauties he should choose. Ramsay's love-passion seems to have partaken much of Captain Macheath's liberal style of Worship:—
"How happy could I be with either!"]
Tibby has a store o' charms,
Her genty shape our fancy warms;
How strangely can her sma' white arms
Fetter the lad who looks but at her;
Fra'er ancle to her slender waste,
These sweets conceal'd invite to dawt her;
Her rosy cheek, and rising breast,
Gar ane's mouth gush bowt fu' o' water.
Nelly's gawsy, saft and gay,
Fresh as the lucken flowers in May;
Ilk ane that sees her, cries, Ah hey,
She's bonny! O I wonder at her.
The dimples of her chin and cheek,
And limbs sae plump invite to dawt her;
Her lips sae sweet, and skin sae sleek,
Gar mony mouths beside mine water.
Now strike my finger in a bore,
My wyson with the maiden shore,
Gin I can tell whilk I am for,
When these twa stars appear thegither.
O love! why does thou gi'e thy fires
Sae large, while we're oblig'd to neither?
Our spacious sauls immense desires,
And aye be in a hankerin' swither.
Tibby's shape and airs are fine,
And Nelly's beauties are divine:
But since they canna baith be mine,
Ye gods, give ear to my petition:
Provide a good lad for the tane,
But let it be with this provision,
I get the other to my lane,
In prospect plano and fruition.
Willie Wastle.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Museum, and adapted to a tune called "The Eight Men of Moidart." It is also given in Thomson's collection, to the tune of "Tibbie Fowler o' the Glen."]
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie;
Willie was a wabster gude,
Cou'd stown a clue wi' ony bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,
O Tinkler Madgie was her mither;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wadna gi'en a button for her.
She has an e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty teeth forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller;
A whiskin beard about her mou',
Her nose and chin they threaten ither;
Sic a wife, &c.
She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shin'd,
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair on ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther,
Sic a wife, &c.
Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a washin';
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,
She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion.
Her wallie nieves like midden-creels,
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water:
Sic a wife, &c.
My ain dear Land.
[Words by T. Smibert. Music by Mr. Shrivall.]
O bonnie are the hows,
And sunny are the knowes
That fed the kye and yows,
