Far frae the noisy scene,
I'll through the fields alane;
There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean! down by yon burn-side.
MODERNISED BY LORD PRESIDENT Forbes.
TUNE-Dainty Davie.
WHILE fops, in saft Italian verse,
Ilk fair ane's een and breist rehearse;
While sangs abound, and wit is scarce,
These lines I have indited:
But neither darts nor arrows, here,
Venus nor Cupid, shall appear;
Although with these fine sounds, I swear,
The maidens are delighted.
I was aye telling you,
Lucky Nansy, Lucky Nansy,
Auld springs wad ding the new,
But ye wad never trow me.
Nor snaw with crimson will I mix,
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks;
And syne the unmeaning name prefix,
Miranda, Cloe, Phillis;
I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove,
My height of ecstasy to prove,
Nor sighing-thus-present my love
With roses eke and lilies.
But, stay-I had amaist forgot
My mistress, and my sang to boot,
And that's an unco faut, I wot;
But, Nansy, 'tis nae matter:
Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme,
And ken ye that atones the crime;
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime,
And glide away like water!
Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair,
Thy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair,
Thy half-shut een, and hoddling air,
Are a' my passion's fuel;
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see,
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee;
Yet thou hast charms enew for me;
Then smile, and be na cruel.
Leeze me on thy snawy pow,
Lucky Nansy, Lucky Nansy;
Dryest wood will eithest low,
And, Nansy, sae will ye now.
Troth, I have sung the sang to you,
Which ne'er anither bard' wad do;
Hear, then, my charitable vow,
Dear venerable Nansy:
But, if the world my passion wrang,
And say ye only live in sang,
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue,
And sing to please my fancy.
Leeze me on, &c.*
OLD King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;
And old King Coul he had a brown bowl,
And they brought him in fiddlers three;
And every fiddler was a very good fiddler,
And a very good fiddler was he:
Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three:
And there's no a lass in a' Scotland,
Compared to our sweet Marjorie.
Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;
Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,
And they brought him in pipers three:
From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the pipers three ;
Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three :
And there's no a lass in a' the land,
Compared to our sweet Marjorie.
Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;
Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,
And they brought him in harpers three:
Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers;
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the
pipers ;
Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three:
And there's no a lass in a' the land,
Compared to our sweet Marjorie.
Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;
Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,
And they brought him in trumpeters three: Twarra-rang, twarra-rang, went the trumpeters; Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers; Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the pipers;
Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three :
And there's no a lass in a' Scotland,
Compared to sweet Marjorie.
Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;
Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,
And they brought him in drummers three :
Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, went the drummers;
Twarra-rang, twarra-rang, went the trumpeters;
Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers;
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went
the pipers;
Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three :
And there's no a lass in a' the land,
Compared to sweet Marjorie.*
* From Herd's Collection, 1776.
OVER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.
TUNE-Over the Water to Charlie.
COME, boat me ower, come, row me ower,
Come, boat me ower to Charlie ;
I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,
To ferry me ower to Charlie.
We'll over the water, and over the sea,
We'll over the water to Charlie;
Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and
And live and die wi' Charlie.
It's weel I loe my Charlie's name,
Though some there be that abhor him ;
But O, to see Auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!
I swear by moon and stars sae bricht,
And the sun that glances early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd gie them a' for Charlie.
I ance had sons, I now hae nane;
I bred them, toiling sairly;
And I wad bear them a' again,
And lose them a' for Charlie !
TUNE-The waefu' heart.
GIN livin' worth could win my heart,
You would not speak in vain ;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.
My waefu' heart lies low wi' his,
Whose heart was only mine;
And, oh! what a heart was that to lose— But I maun no repine.
Yet, oh! gin heaven in mercy soon
Would grant the boon I crave,
And take this life, now naething worth,
Sin' Jamie's in his grave!
And see, his gentle spirit comes,
To show me on my way;
Surprised, nae doubt, I still am here,
Sair wondering at my stay.
I come, I come, my Jamie dear;
And, oh, wi' what gude will
I follow, wheresoe'er ye lead!
Ye canna lead to ill.
She said, and soon a deadly pale
Her faded cheek possess'd;
Her waefu' heart forgot to beat;
Her sorrows sunk to rest.*
BUSK and go, busk and go,
Busk and go to Cuttie's wedding!
Wha wad be the lass or lad
That wadna gang an they were bidden?
Cuttie he's a lang man,
O he'll get a little wifie;
But he'll tak on to the town loan
When she taks on her fickie-fykie.
Cuttie he cam here yestreen;
Cuttie he fell ower the midden;
* From Johnson's Musical Museum, vol. III. 1790.
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