Songs (Brechin 1834)/Pity the lads that are free
PITY THE LADS THAT ARE FREE
Pity the lads that are free,
Pity the chiels that are single;
For gude sake! tak pity on me.
I’m teased night an’ day wi’ Jean Pringle.
For lasses I carena a preen,
My heart’s my ain an’ I’m chary,
An', wer’t nae for that cutty Jean,
I’d sleep as soun’ as a peerie!
What's beauty?—it a’ lies in taste!
For nane o’t wad I gie a bodle!
But hers, hauntin’ me like a ghaist,
Is whiles like to turn my noddle!
She’s wooers—but what's that to me?
They’re walcome to dance a’ about her;
Yet I like na her smilin’ sae slee
To lang Sandy Lingles the souter!
Yestreen I cam in frae the plew,
The lasses were a’ busy spinnin;
I stoiter'd as if I’d been fou,
For Jeanie a sang was beginnin’.
I hae heard fifty maids sing.
Whiles ane an’ whiles a’ thegether;
But nane did the starting tears bring
Till she sung the “Braes of Balquhither.”
Last Sunday, when gaun to the kirk,
I met wi' my auld aunty Beenie;
I looked as stupid’s a stirk
When simply she said—"How is Jeanie?"
An' at e'en, when I, wi' the rest,
Was carritched baith Larger an’ Single,
When speered-Wham we suld like best?
I stammered out—“ Young Jennie Pringle !
Last cul I gaed in to the fair,
To wair out my Hallowmas guinea ;
When wha said I fa' in wi' there
A’ dinket cut finely-but Jeanie;
I couldna gang by her for shame,
I couldna but speak else be saucy,
See I had to oxter her hame,
An’ buy a silk snood to the lassie
It’s no but she’s baith gude an fair.
It's no but she’s winsome an’ bonnie:
Her cen, glancing ’neath gowden hair,
Are brighter, I daursay, than eny.
But pawkie een's naething to me,
Of gowd locks I want nae the straikin’;
Folk speak about love—but they’ll see.
For anee, by my faith ! they’re mistaken.
I promised the lasses a spree,
I promised the lads a paradin’,
I canna weel hae’t—let me see—
Unless I get up a bit waddin’.
I think I'll send ower for the clark,
He might cry us out the neist Sunday;
It’s winter—we’re nae thrang at wark,
Sae I think I’ll just marry gn Monday!