WILLIE'S WIFE.
WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie,
Willie was a wabster guid,
Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie:
He had a wife was dour and din,
O tinkler Madgie was her mother;
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
She has an e'e, she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very color;
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
A clapper tongue wad deave a miller:
A whiskin beard about her mou,
Her nose and chin they threaten ither.
Sic a wife, &c.
She's bough-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter :
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife, &c.
Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,
An wi' her loof her face a washin; But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion; Her walie nieves like midden-creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan-water; Sic a wife, &c.
O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan cam to see;
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wad na fiud in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're na that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
And ay we'll taste the barley bree.
Here are we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys I trow are we;
And monie a night we've merry been,
And monic mae we hope to be!
We are, &c.
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the lift sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee!
We are, &c.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa',
A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha last beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
We are, &c,
GANE is the day and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for faute o' light,
For ale and brandy's stars and moon,
And bluid-red wine's the rising sun.
Then guidwife count the lawin, the lawin, the lawing Then guidwite count the lawin, and bring a coggie mair.
There's wealth and ease for gentlemen,
And semple folk maun fecht and fen';
But here we're a' in ae accord,
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.
Then guidwife, &c.
My coggie is a haly pool,
That heals the wounds o' care and dool;
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out.
Then guidwife, &c.
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by.
We dare be poor for a' that'
For a' that, and a' that,
Our toil's obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show and a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dignities, and a' that,
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth
May bear the gree, and a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
CONTENTED Wi' little, and cantie wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care,
I gie them a skelp, as they're creeping alang,
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang.
I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But man is a sodger, and life is a faught:
My mirth and guid humor are coin in my pouch, And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch.
A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa',
A night o' good fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the devil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure or pain,
My warst ward is--"Welcome, and welcome again
|