Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/241

Rh I dreamt that I rade in a chariot,

A flunkie ahint me in green;

While Geordie cried out, he was harriet,

An' the saut tear was blindin' his een;

But though 'gainst my spendin' he swear aye,

I'll ha'e frae him what ser's my turn;

Let him slip awa' whan he grows wearie,

Shame fa' me! gin lang I wad mourn!

But Geordie, while Meg was haranguin',

Was cloutin' his breeks i' the bauks,

An' when a' his failins she brang in,

His Strang, hazle-pike-staff he taks:

Designin' to rax her a lounder,

He chanced on the lather to shift,

An' down frae the bauks, flat's a flounder,

Flew, like a shot-starn frae the lift!

But Meg, wi' the sight, was quite haster'd,

An' nae doubt, was bannin' ill luck;

While the face o' poor Geordie was plaster'd,

And his mou' was fill'd fu' wi' the muck!

Confound ye! cried Geordie, an' spat out

The glaur that adown his beard ran;—

Preserve us! quo' Meg, as she gat out

The door,—an' thus lost a gudeman!

[ is a fragment of a Jacobitical song contributed by Burns to Johnson's Museum. A spurious addition to it is given by Cromek in his "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song." The old tune of "Bannocks o' barley" was originally called "The Killogie," and was sung to words, here inadmissible, beginning,

Hogg, in his Jacobite Relics, vol. i., gives a song to the same tune, called "Cakes of Crowdy," written against the Revolution of 1688, but it is not worth quoting.]

[ to the celebrated John,, who figures so favourably in the "Heart of Midlothian" as the patron of Jeanie Deans. He died in 1743, at the age of sixty-three. A modified version of the song, by Sir Alex. Boswell, Bart. of Auchinleck, is given in the 3d. vol. of George Thomson's collection.—Air, "Bannocks o' barley."]

is my name, and you may think it strange,

To live at a court, yet never to change;

A' falsehood and flattery I do disdain,

In my secret thoughts nae guile does remain.

My king and my country's foes I have faced,

In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced;

I do every thing for my country's weal,

And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

Adieu to the courtie of London town,

For to my ain countrie I will gang down;

At the sight of Kirkaldy ance again,

I'll cock up my bonnet, and march amain.

O, the muckle deil tak' a' your noise and strife:

I'm fully resolved for a country life,

Whare a' the braw lasses, wha ken me weel,

Will feed me wi' bannocks o' barley meal.

I will quickly lay down my sword and my gun,

And put my blue bonnet and my plaidie on;

With my silk tartan hose, and leather-heel'd shoon,

And then I will look like a sprightly loon.

And when I'm sae dress'd frae tap to tae,

To meet my dear Maggie I vow I will gae,

Wi' target and hanger hung down to my heel;

And I'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

I'll buy a rich garment to gi'e to my dear,

A ribbon o' green for Maggie to wear;

And mony thing brawer than that I declare,

Gin she will gang wi' me to Paisley fair.

And when we are married, I'll keep her a cow,

And Maggie will milk when I gae to plow;

We'll live a' the winter on beef and lang kail,

And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

Gin Maggie should chance to bring me a son,

He'll fight for his king, as his daddy has done;

He'll hie him to Flanders, some breeding to learn,

And then hame to Scotland, and get him a farm.