The Book of Scottish Song/Jenny dang the Weaver

Jenny dang the Weaver.

[Sir A. Boswell, Bart.]

At Willie's wedding on the green,
The lasses, bonnie witches,
Were a dress'd out in aprons clean,
And braw white Sunday mutches:
Auld Maggie bade the lads tak' tent,
But Jock would not believe her;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang the Weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,
Jenny dang the Weaver;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang the Weaver.

At ilka country dance or reel,
Wi' her he would be bobbing;
When she sat down—he sat down,
And to her would be gabbing;
Where'er she gaed baith butt and ben,
The coof would never leave her;
Aye kecklin' like a clocking hen,
But Jenny dang the Weaver.
Jenny dang, &c.

Quo' he, My lass, to speak my mind,
In troth I needna swither;
You've bonnie een, and if you're kind,
I'll never seek anither:
He humm'd and haw'd, the lass cried Peugh!
And bade the coof no deave her;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh,
And dang the silly weaver.
And Jenny dang, Jenny dang,
Jenny dang the Weaver;
Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh,
And dang the silly Weaver.

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