The Book of Scottish Song/Wap at the Widow
Wap at the Widow.
[Re-modelled by Ramsay from an old but indelicate song to a lively air.]
The widow can bake, and the widow can brew,
The widow can shape, and the widow can sew,
And mony braw things the widow can do;
Then have at the widow, my laddie.
With courage attack her, baith early and late,
To kiss her and clap her ye maunna be blate:
Speak well, and do better; for that's the best gate
To win a young widow, my laddie.
The widow she's youthfu', and never ae hair
The waur of the wearing, and has a good skair
Of every thing lovely; she's witty and fair,
And has a rich jointure, my laddie.
What could ye wish better, your pleasure to crown,
Than a widow, the bonniest toast in the town,
With, Naething but—draw in your stool and sit down,
And sport with the widow, my laddie.
Then till her, and kill her with courtesie dead,
Though stark love and kindness be all you can plead;
Be heartsome and airy, and hope to succeed
With the bonnie gay widow, my laddie.
Strike iron while 'tis het, if ye'd have it to wald,
For fortune aye favours the active and bauld,
But ruins the wooer that's thowless and cauld,
Unfit for the widow, my laddie.