I swear by the kirk, and rejoice by the bell, That I live not in wedlock, thank Heaven! but hell: There hae I been dwelling the maist o' my But I never could thole it if I had a wife. life, Burns found this very strange, wild, and singular old song, and improved its humour, increased its wit, and printed it in the Museum: still that work claims too much when it claims it as his sole production; for the song, when divested of the poet's alterations, suffers no change in nature or in story, and no great abatement in humour. Another wild version was printed by Mr. Cromek, which had much of the original song about it. Out of these two, assisted by some fugitive copies, I have tried to make a more complete version than has hitherto appeared: I have dismissed some of the verses, and omitted the idle and unmeaning chorus, which augmented the song one half without adding one word to the story, or sharpening the wit, or pointing the humour. To soothe the antiquarian, I give a verse encumbered with all the ancient honours of the chorus: There was an auld man was hauding his plow- By came the devil, says, “how d'ye do?” And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. What serves thae tresses' glossy black, Bright brow and merry e'e That shapely foot and wanton leg, O can ye labour lea, young man, O can ye labour lea? Red is your cheek, and light your look, gowans grow in Feberwar, And lilies bloom in May, But true love is an evergreen That lasts for ance and ay. And can ye And can labour lea, young man, ye labour lea? O sweet's the drink, and soft the bed, O' him that labours lea. O, kissing is the key of love, And clasping is the lock, And making of's the best thing That ever a lassie got. And can ye labour lea, young man, And can ye labour lea? Your chin is bare, learn young, learn fair, Sae come and labour lea. Among the many variations of this song, some descending into grossness, others rising more into purity, but all somewhat tinctured with the freedom of olden days, it is not easy to satisfy expectation by a copy which may give the life and naïveté of all the versions. The heroine of this song is represented at a hiring-fair, discussing the qualifications of a candidate for a situation as ploughman: and as the last youth who was fee'd at Martinmas had proved unfit, the capability of the other is more anxiously inquired about. In Dumfriesshire the young men and women who wish to hire attend the fair with sprigs of broom or holly in their hat or girdle. I will not distinctly say but that to some the song conveys a different meaning than skill in ploughmanship; and this is countenanced strongly by some variations. They degenerate into vulgarity and grossness. THE CARLES OF DYSART. Cantie carles of Dysart, Merry lads of Buckhaven, Saucie limmers of Largo, Bonnie lasses of Leven. Hey ca through, ca through, Hey speed on, speed on, We have less for lending. Some have tales for telling, On the seas where we Daily seek our fortune. We'll have mirth and laughter, To spend the gear they gather. Than ever yet came out o't. This fisherman's chant is gathered together from various versions, oral and written: the one to which it is chiefly indebted is printed in Johnson's Museum-a sanctuary for many a curious verse. I am very fond of many of our snatches of maritime songs; and I feel grieved that our bards have consecrated so many battle fields with their strains and neglected the actions of our mariners. Dibdin has, indeed, sought to supply this national want, and many passages in his lyrics are worthy of the subject. But the language of Dibdin's mariners is not the language of the heroes of Camperdown and Trafalgar-it is the monotonous and vulgar slang of the watermen of London-of coarse coasters and inland bargemen. GALLOWAY TAM. O, Galloway Tam came here to woo. A heart like a fox, a look like a lamb And these are the marks of Galloway Tam. |