Alexander, the fourth Duke of Gordon, was born in the year 1743, and died on the 17th of January 1827, in the eighty-fourth year of his age. Chiefly remembered as a kind patron of the poet Burns, his name is likewise entitled to a place in the national minstrelsy as the author of an excellent version of the often-parodied song, "Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." Of this song, the first words, written to an older tune, appeared in the second volume of Herd's "Collection," in 1776. These begin—
"Cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strabogie;
But yet I fear they 'll cook o'er soon,
And never warm the cogie."
The song is anonymous, as is the version, first published in Dale's "Scottish Songs," beginning—
"There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strabogie,
Where ilka lad maun hae his lass,
But I maun hae my cogie."
A third version, distinct from that inserted in the text, was composed by William Reid, a bookseller in Glasgow, who died in 1831. His song is scarcely known. The Duke's song, with which Burns expressed himself as being "charmed," was first published in the second volume of Johnson's "Musical Museum." It is not only gay and animating, but has the merit of being free of blemishes in want of refinement, which affect the others. The "Bogie" celebrated in the song, it may be remarked, is a river in Aberdeenshire, which, rising in the parish of Auchindoir, discharges its waters into the Deveron, a little distance below the town of Huntly. It gives its name to the extensive and rich valley of Strathbogie, through which it proceeds.
CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN.
There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strabogie;
Gin I hae but a bonnie lass,
Ye 're welcome to your cogie.
And ye may sit up a' the night,
And drink till it be braid daylight;
Gi'e me a lass baith clean and tight,
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
In cotillions the French excel,
John Bull loves country dances;
The Spaniards dance fandangoes well;
Mynheer an all'mande prances;
In foursome reels the Scots delight,
At threesomes they dance wondrous light,
But twasomes ding a' out o' sight,
Danced to the reel o' Bogie.
Come, lads, and view your partners weel,
Wale each a blythesome rogie;
I'll tak this lassie to mysel',
She looks sae keen and vogie.
Now, piper lads, bang up the spring,
The country fashion is the thing,
To pree their mou's ere we begin
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
Now ilka lad has got a lass,
Save yon auld doited fogie,
And ta'en a fling upon the grass,
As they do in Strabogie.
But a' the lasses look sae fain,
We canna think oursel's to hain,
For they maun hae their come again,
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
Now a' the lads hae done their best,
Like true men o' Strabogie,
We 'll stop a while and tak' a rest,
And tipple out a cogie.
Come now, my lads, and tak your glass,
And try ilk ither to surpass,
In wishing health to every lass,
To dance the reel o' Bogie.
