The Book of Scottish Song/The Gaberlunzie-man

The Gaberlunzie-man.

[This humorous and graphic piece is generally ascribed to James V. king of Scotland, (born 1512: died 1542). James V. was known often to go in disguise, and indulge in frolics similar to the one here celebrated.]

The pawkie auld carle came o'er the lea,
Wi' mony gude e'ens and days to me,
Saying, Gudewife, for your courtesie,
Will you lodge a silly poor man?
The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down ayont the ingle he sat;
My doughter's shouthers he 'gan to clap,
And cadgily ranted and sang.

O wow! quo' he, were I as free,
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blythe and merry wad I be!
And I wad never think lang.
He grew canty, and she grew fain;
But little did her auld minny ken
What thir slie twa together were say'ng,
When wooing they were sae thraug.

And O! quo' he, an' ye were as black
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat,
'Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa' wi' me thou should gang.
And! quo' she, an' I were as white,
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike,
I'd cleed me braw and lady like,
And awa' wi' thee I would gang.

Between the twa was made a plot;
They raise a wee before the cock,
And wilily they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent are they gane.
Up in the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure pat on her claise;
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes,
To speer for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay,
The strae was cauld, he was away,
She clapt her hands, cry'd, Waladay!
For some of our gear will be gane.
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist,
But nought was stown that cou'd be mist,
She danc'd her lane, cry'd. Praise be blest!
I have lodg'd a leal poor man.

Since naething's awa', as we can learn,
The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn,
Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben.
The servant gade where the doughter lay,
The sheets were cauld, she was away,
And fast to the gudewife 'gan say,
She's aff wi' the gaberlunzie, man.

O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin,
And haste ye find these traytors again;
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain,
The wearifu' gaberlunzie man.
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a fit,
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit;
She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd she sit,
But aye she curs'd and she bann'd.

Mean time far hind out o'er the lee,
Fu' snug in a glen, where nane could see,
The twa wi' kindly sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang:
The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith,
To lo'e her for aye, he ga'e her his aith,
Quo' she. To leave thee I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzie man.

O kend my minny I were wi' you,
Ill-far'dly wad she crook her mou',
Sic a poor man she'd never trow,
After the gaberlunzie-man.
My dearr, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young,
And ha'e nae learn'd the beggar's tongue,
To follow me frae town to town,
And carry the gaberlunzie on.

Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread,
And spindles and whorles for them wha need,
Whilk is a gentle trade indeed,
To carry the gaberlunzie on.
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout o'er my e'e,
A cripple or blind they will ca' me,
While we shall be merry and sing.

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