The Book of Scottish Song/Haud awa' 2

Haud awa'.

[This can be traced no farther back than to David Herd's collection, 1776. The author is unknown.—Tune, "Donald."]

O, will ye ha'e ta tartan plaid,
Or will ye ha'e ta ring, matam?
Or will ye ha'e ta kiss o' me?
And tat's a pretty ting, matam!
Haud awa', bide awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald!
I'll neither kiss nor ha'e a ring;
Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald!

O, see ye not her ponnie progues,
Her fecket-plaid, plue, creen, matam?
Her twa short hose, and her twa spoigs,
And a shoulter-pelt apeen, matam?
Haud awa', bide awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald!
Nae shoulder-belts, nae trinkabouts,
Nae tartan hose for me, Donald!

Her can pe show a petter hough
Tan him tat wears ta croun, matam;
Hersel' ha'e pistol and claymore,
To fley ta Lallant loon, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald
For a' your houghs and warlike arms,
You're no a match for me, Donald.

Hersel' ha'e a short coat, pi pocht
No trail my feets at rin, matam;
A cutty sark o' goot ham sheet,
My motter she pe spin, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald;
Gae hame and hap your naked houghs,
And fash nae mair wi' me, Donald.

Ye's ne'er pe pidden work a turn '
At ony kind o' spin, matam;
But shug your laeno (child) in a scull,
And tidel Highland sing, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald
Tour jogging sculls and Highland sang
Will sound but harsh wi' me, Donald,

In ta morning, when him rise,
Ye'se get fresh whey for tea, matam;
Sweet milk and ream as much you please,
Far sheeper tan Pohea, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald!
I winna quit my morning's tea—
Your whey will ne'er agree, Donald.

Haper Gaelic ye'se pe learn,
And tat's ta ponny speak, matam;
Ye'se get a cheese, and butter kirn:
Come wi' me kin ye like, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald!
Your Gaelic and your Highland cheer
Will ne'er gae down wi' me, Donald.

Fait, ye'se pe get a siller protch,
Pe pigger tan ta moon, matam;
Ye'se ride in currach 'stead o' coach,
And wow put ye'll pe fine, matam.
Haud awa', haud awa',
Haud awa' frae me, Donald!
For a' your Highland rarities,
Ye're no a match for me, Donald.

What! 'tis ta way tat ye'll pe kind
To a pretty man like me, matam!
Sae lang's claymore hangs py my side
I'll nefer marry tee, matam!
O, come awa', come awa',
Come awa' wi' me, Donald!
I wadna quit my Highland man;
Frae Lawlands set me free, Donald!

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