Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/143

Rh And when they came to Kelso town,

They gaur'd the clap gang through;

Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,

The face o't lined up wi' blue?

The face o't lined up wi' blue,

And the tail turn'd up wi' green;

Saw ye a lass wi' a hood and mantle,

Should ha'e been married on Tuesday 't e'en?

O at the saft and silly bridegroom

The bridemaids a' were laughin';

When up there spake the bridegroom's man,

Now what means a' this daffin'?

For woman's love's a wilfu' thing,

And fancy flies fu' free;

Then hey play up the rinaway bride,

For she has ta'en the gee.

[.—The air of this is given in "The Scottish Minstrel," and is said to have been long current in the north of Scotland as the composition of John M'Murdo of Kintall. It is the same as what appears among the Irish Melodies under the name of "The Legacy."]

[ the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. "A tradition," says Burns, "is mentioned" in the 'Bee,' that the second Bishop Chisholm, of Dunblane, used to say, that if he were going to be hanged, nothing could soothe his mind so much by the way as to hear 'Clout the Caldron' played. I have met with another tradition, that the old song to this tune,

was composed by one of the Kenmure family, in the cavalier times; and alluding to an amour he had, while under hiding, in the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by the name of 'The Blacksmith and his Apron,' which from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old song to the tune."]

ye any pots or pans,

Or any broken chandlers?

I am a tinker to my trade,

And newly come frae Flanders,

As scant of siller as of grace:

Disbanded, we've a bad run;

Gar tell the lady of the place,

I'm come to clout her caldron.

Fa, adrie, diddie, diddle, &c.

Madam, if you have wark for me,

I'll do't to your contentment;

And dinna care a single flie

For any man's resentment;

For, lady fair, though I appear

To every ane a tinker,

Yet to yoursell I'm bauld to tell,

I am a gentle jinker.

Love Jupiter into a swan

Turned, for his loved Leda;

He like a bull ower meadows ran,

To carry off Europa.