Page:Selection of songs, &c..pdf/6



The Auld Beggar Man is a hearty auld cock;

Wi’ his sair-tatter’d rags an' his muckle meal-pock,

He lives like a king in the midst o’ the lan —

He’s a slee pawkie body, the Auld Beggar Man.

He has a white pow an’ a fresh ruddy check,

For there’s sabbath to him ilk a day o the week :

An’ he daunder’s aye onward the best way he can

He’s a canty bit carle, the Auld Beggar Man.

The guidwife sets his chair by the clear ingle-side,

Whar his feet may grow warm an’ his claes may be dried:

Syne the haill kintra’s clashes he screeds them off han‘-

He’s a gabbin bit birkie, the Auld Beggar Man.

Wi‘ the guidman he cracks about cattle an' corn.

Whether this rig or that ane the best crop has borne :

How aits up hae risen an‘ ousen hae fa‘n,

Like a beuk he can argue, the Auld Beggar Man.

The bairns crowd aroun’ him his stories to hear,

While maistly the wee things are swarfing wi’ fear,

An’ he tells them how witches wi‘ auld Clootie ban.

Till they creep to the knee o‘ the Auld Beggar Man.

He‘s ane o‘ our ain fo‘k the lasses aye say ,

When their wooers drap in at the close o‘ the day ;

Sae he hears them mak‘ up ilk a lovin’ bit plan,

He’s an auld farrent body the Auld Beggar Man.

When the supper is done an’ the grace has been said,

‘Mang the strae in the barn is the auld body’s bed—

There he sleeps like a tap till the break o’ the dawn.

He’s hale at the heart yet, the Auld Beggar Man.