So For a' that, and a' that, And twice as meikle's a' that; RECITATIVO. sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's Shook with a thunder of applause, Re-echo'd from each mouth; They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds, They scarcely left to co'er their fuds, To quench their lowan drouth. Then owre again, the jovial thrang To lowse his pack, and wale a sang, He, rising, rejoicing, Between his twa Deborahs, Looks round him, and found them AIR. TUNE,- Jolly mortals, fill your glasses.' SEE the smoking bowl before us, Mark our jovial ragged ring; Round and round take up the chorus, CHORUS. A fig for those by law protected! What is title? what is treasure? A fig, &c. With the ready trick and fable, A fig, &c. Does the train-attended carriage Thro' the country lighter rove? Does the sober bed of marriage Witness brighter scenes of love? A fig, &c. Life is all a variorum, We regard not how it goes; Let them cant about decorum Who have characters to lose. A fig, &c. Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets! Here's to all the wandering train! Here's our ragged brats and callets! One and all cry out, Amen! A fig, &c. THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING SALUTATION TO His auld Mare Maggie, ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIPP OF CORN TO HANSEL A Guid New-year I wish thee, Maggie! Thou could hae gane like onie staggie Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, He should been tight that daur't to raize thee, Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, An' could hae flown out-owre a stank, It's now some nine-an'-twenty year, An' fifty mark; Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, An' thou was stark. When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, Ye then was trottin wi' your minnie: ye was trickie, slee, an' funnie, Tho' Ye ne'er was donsie ; But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, An' unco sonsie. That day ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide, Tho' now ye dow but hoyte and hobble, For heels an' win'! An' ran them till they a' did wauble, When thou an' I were young and skeigh, Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh, An' ca't thee mad. When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow, For pith an' speed; But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, Whare'er thou gaed. The sma', droop-rumpl't, hunter cattle, Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle Thou was a noble fittie-lan', On guid March weather, Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han' For days thegither. Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket, When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep, An' threaten'd labour back to keep, I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap Aboon the timmer; I ken'd my Maggie wadna sleep For that, or simmer. In cart or car thou never reestit; The steyest brae thou wad hae face't it: But just thy step a wee thing hastit, Thou snoov't awa. |