The Book of Scottish Song/Rob's Jock

Rob's Jock.

["Rob's Jock," or "The Wooing of Jock and Jenny," to the tune of "Hey, Jenny, com' down to Jock," is one of the very oldest of our Scottish songs, and can be traced as far back as to the Bannatyne MS. of 1568. We find considerable difference of reading in different versions. The following is the version given by Ramsay, who calls it "a very auld ballat."]

Rob's Jock cam' to woo our Jenny;
On ae feast day when we were fou;
She brankit fast, and made her bonnie,
And said, Jock, come ye here to woo?
She burnist her, baith breast and brow,
And made her clear as ony clock;
Then spak' her dame, and said, I trow
Ye come to woo our Jenny, Jock.

Jock said, Forsuith, I yearn fu' fain,
To luk my head, and sit down by you:
Then spak' her minny, and said again,
My bairn has tocher enough to gi'e you.
Tehie! quo' Jenny; Keik, keik, I see you:
Minny, yon man mak's but a mock.
Beshrew the liar, fu leis me o' you,
I come to woo your Jenny, quo' Jock.

My bairn has tocher of her ain:
A guse, a gryce, a cock and hen,
A stirk, a staig, an acre sawin,
A bake-bread and a bannock-stane,
A pig, a pot, and a kirn there-ben,
A kame but and a kaming stock;
With cogs and luggies nine or ten:
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock?

A wecht, a peat-creel, and a cradle,
A pair of clips, a graip, a flail,
An ark, an ambry, and a laidle,
A milsie, and a sowen-pail,
A rousty whittle to shear the kail,
And a timber-mell the bear to knock,
Twa shelfs made of an auld fir-dale:
Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock?

A furm, a furlet, and a peck,
A rock, a reel, and a wheel-band,
A tub, a barrow, and a seek,
A spurtle-braid, and an elwand.
Then Jock took Jenny by the hand,
And cry'd, A feast! and slew a cock,
And made a bridal upo' land,
Now I ha'e got your Jenny, quo' Jock.

Now dame, I have your dochter married,
And tho' ye mak' it ne'er sae rough,
I let you wit she's nae miscarried,
It's well kend I ha'e gear enough:
An auld gawd gloyd fell owre a heugh,
A spade, a speet, a spur, a sock:
Withouten owsen I have a pleugh:
May that no ser your Jenny, quo' Jock?

A t'reen truncher, a ram-horn spoon,
Twa bits of barket blasint leather,
A graith that ganes to coble shoon,
And a thrawcruck to twyne a teather.
Twa crocks that moup amang the heather,
A pair of branks and a fetter lock,
A teugh purse made of a swine's blether,
To haud your tocher, Jenny, quo' Jock.

Good elding for our winter fire,
A cod of caff wad fill a cradle,
A rake of iron to claut the byre,
A deuk about the dubs to paddle;
The pannel of an auld led-saddle,
And Rob my eem hecht me a stock,
Twa lusty lips to lick a laiddle,
May this no gane your Jenny, quo' Jock?

A pair of hems and brechom fine,
And without bitts a bridle renzie,
A sark made of the linkome-twine,
A grey green cloke that will not stenzie;
Mair yet in store—I needna fenzie,
Five hundred flaes, a fendy flock;
And are not thae a wakrife menzie,
To gae to bed with Jenny and Jock?

Tak' thir for my part of the feast,
It is well known I am weel bodin':
Ye needna say my part is least,
Were they as meikle as they're lodin'.
The wife speer'd gin the kail was sodin,
When we have done, tak' hame the brok,
The roast was tough as raploch hodin,
With which they feasted Jenny and Jock.

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