The Book of Scottish Song/Janet Macbean

Janet Macbean.

[From "Poems and Songs by Robert Nicoll." W. Tait, Edinburgh.]

Janet Macbean a public keeps,
An' a merry auld wife is she;
An' she sells her yill wi' a jaunty air
That wad please your heart to see.
Her drink's o' the best—she's hearty aye,
An' her house is neat an' clean—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.

She has aye a curtsey for the laird
When he comes to drink his can,
An' a laugh for the farmer an' his wife,
An' a joke for the farmer's man.
She toddles but an' she toddles ben,
Like onie wee bit queen—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.

The beggar wives gang a' to her,
An' she sairs them wi' bread an' cheese,—
Her bread in bannocks an' cheese in whangs
Wi' a blythe gudewill she gi'es.
Vow, the kintra-side will miss her sair
When she's Laid aneath the green—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.

Amang alehouse wives she rules the roast;
For upo' the Sabbath days
She puts on her weel hain'd tartan plaid
An' the rest o' her Sabbath claes,
An' she sits, nae less! in the minister's seat:
Ilk psalm she lilts, I ween—
There's no an auld wife in the public line
Can match wi' Janet Macbean.

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