  RECITATIVO. AIR. Tune—O an ye were dead, Gudeman. I. A highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn; But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant, braw John Highlandman! CHORUS. Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my braw John Highlandman! There's not a lad in a' the lan' Was match for my John Highlandman! II. With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, An' guid claymore down by his side, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. III. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay; For a lalland face he feared none, My gallant, braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. IV. They banish'd him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. V. But och! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. VI. And now a widow I must mourn, Departed joys that ne'er return; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c. RECITATIVO. A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle. Her strappen limb an' gausy middle, (He reach'd na higher,) Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire. W' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, Then in an arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off wi' allegretto glee His giga solo. AIR. Tune—Whistle owre the lave o't. CHORUS. I am a fidler to my trade, An' a' the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was, whistle owre the lave o't. At kirns an' weddins we'se be there, An' O sae nicely's we will fare! We'll bowse about till Dadie Care Sing whistle owre the lave o't. I am, &c. Sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke, An' sun oursells about the dyke; An' at our leisure when ye like We'll—whistle owre the lave o't. I am, &c. But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, And while I kittle Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms May whistle owre the lave o't. I am, &c. RECITATIVO. Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird As weel as poor Gutscraper; He taks the fiddler by the beard, An' draws a roosty rapier— He swoor by a' was swearing worth, To speet him like a pliver, Unless he would from that time forth Relinquish her for ever: Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee, Upon his hunkers An' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face, An' so the quarrel ended; But tho' his little heart did grieve, When round the tinker prest her, He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, When thus the Caird address'd her AIR. Tune—Clout the Caudron. I. My bonie lass I work in brass, A tinkler is my station; I've travell'd round all Christian ground In this my occupation; I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd In many a noble squadron; But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go an' clout the caudron. I've ta'en the gold, &c. II. Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, With a' his noise an' caprin; An' take a share with those that bear The budget an' the apron! An' by that stowp, my faith an' houpe, An' by that dear Kilbaigie If e'er ye want, or meet with scant, May I ne'er weet my craigie. An' by that stowp, &c. RECITATIVO. The Caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair In his embraces sunk; Partly wi' love o'ercome sa sair, An' partly she was drunk: Sir Violino, with an air, That show'd a man o' spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk To their health that night. But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft, That play'd a dame a shavie— A sailor rak'd her fore and aft, Behind the chicken cavie. Her lord a wight o' Homer's craft, Tho' limpan wi' the spavie, He hirpl'd up an' lap like daft, An shor'd O'boot that night. He was a care-defying blade, As ever Bacchus listed! Tho' fortune sair upon him laid, His heart, she ever miss'd it: He had no wish but—to be glad, Nor want but—when he thirsted; He hated nought but—to be sad, An' thus the Muse suggested His sang that night. AIR. Tune—for a' that, an' a' that. I. I am a bard of no regard Wi' gentle-folks, an' a' that; But Homer-like, the glowran byke Frae town to town I draw that. CHORUS. For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as muckle's a' that, I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', I've wife eneugh for a' that. II. I never drank the Muses' tank, Castalia's burn an' a' that; But there it streams, an' richly reams My Helicon I ca' that. For a' that, &c. III. Great love I bear to all the Fair, Their humble slave, an' a' that; But lordly Will, I hold it still A mortal sin to thraw that. For a' that, &c. IV. In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, Wi' mutual love an' a' that; But for how lang the flie may stang, Let Inclination law that. For a' that, &c. V. Their tricks an' craft hae put me daft, They've ta'en me in, an' a' that; But clear your decks, an' here's the Sex! I like the jads for a' that. For a' that, an a' that, An' twice as muckle's a' that, My dearest bluid, to do them guid, They're welcome till't for a' that. |
|
