Three excellent songs (1)/The Kebbuckstone wedding

THE
KEBBUCKSTONE WEDDING.

Auld Watty o'Kebbuckstone brae,
Wi’ lear an’ readin’ o’ beuks auld-farren,
What think ye! the body cam’ owre the day,
An’ tauld us he's gaun to be married to Mirren;
We a’ gat a biddin
To gang to the Weddin’,
Baith Johnnie and Sauncy, & Nelly & Nanny;
An’ Tam o’ the knowes,
He swears, an’ he vows,
At the dancin’ he'll face to the bride wi’ his graunie.
A’ the lads hae trystet their joes,
Slee Willy cam’ up an’ ca’d on Nelly,
Altho’ she was hecht to Geordie Bowse,
She’s gi’en him the gunk, an’ fhe’s gaun wi’ Willy.

Wee coilier Johnnie
Has yocket his pouney,
An's aff to the town for a ladin' o' nappy,
Wi' fouth o' gude meat,
To ser' us to eat,
Sae wi' fuddlin' an' feastin' we'll a' be fu' happy.

Wee Patie Brydie's to say the grace,
The body's ay ready at dredgies an' weddin's,
An' flunkey M^cFee, o' the Skiverton Place,
Is chosen to scuttle the pies an' the puddin's;
For there ill be plenty
O' ilka thing dainty,
Baith lang kail and haggice, an' every thing fitting,
Wi' luggles o' beer,
Our ⟨wizzens⟩ to clear;
Sae the foul ⟨ful⟩ his kite wha gaes clung frae the meeting.

Lowrie ha cof Gibbie Cameron's gun,
That his auld gutcher bore when he follow'd Prince Charley,
The barrel was rustet a black as the grun',
But he's talent to the middy anfs settl'd it rarely;
Wi' wallets o' pouther
His musket he shouther.
An ride at our head, to the bride's a' paradin';
At ilka farm-town
He'll fire them a roun',
Till the hale ⟨kintra⟩ ring wi' the Kebbuckstone Weddin'.

Jamie an' Johnnie maun ride the brouse,
For few like them can fit in the saddle;
An' Willy Cooreath the best o' bows,
Is trysted to jig i' the barn wi' his fiddle;
Wi' whiskin' an' fliskin',
An' reelin' an' wheelin',
The young anes are a' like to loup out o' the body;
An' Neillie M'Nairn,
Tho' fair forfairn,
He vows that he'll wallop twa sets wi' the howdie.
Sauney M'Nab, wi' his tartan treuse,
Has hecht to come down, in the midst o' the caper,
An gi'e us three wallops o' merry Shantrows,
To the true Highland fling o' Macrimmon the piper:
Sic hippin an' skippin',
An springin' an flingin',
I'se wad that there's nane o' the Lallands can waff it!
Feth! Willie maun fiddle,
An' jirguan and diddle,
An' screed till the sweat fa' in beads f ae his haffet.

Then gi'e me your han', my trusty gude frien !
An gi'e me your word my worthy auld kimmer
Ye'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen,
An join us in rantin an toomin the timmer,
Wi fouth o' gude liquor
We'll haud at the bickar,
An lang may the mailin o Kebbuckstone flourish,
For Watty's sae free.
Between you an' me,
I'se warrant he's bidden the ha f o' the parish.

FINIS.