Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/512

494 Owre Jeanie's sad fate dinna swagger,

Your music delights na her ear,

It sends to her heart like a dagger,

"Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear."

My daddy for luve o' the tocher,

Ga'e sour-gabbit grey-beard his Jean,

The body dow naething but clochar,

An' grane like a brownie at e'en;

His jaws canna chow a saft bannock,

He growls like a Norawa bear,

The verra weans cry through the winnock,

"Auld Wattie's the waur o' the wear."

Gley'd Gibbie thraws on his grey jacket,

It kivers a rukle o' banes,

An' lilts awa' hame like a cricket,

An' craws owre his cleckin' o' weans.

An' lingle-tall'd Tibbie, their mither,

Ca's him baith her joy an' her dear,

Gude sen' Josie Tait an' his tether,

For Wattie's the waur o' the wear.

Now wae to the weary psalm-lelter,

Wha thrice i' the kirk fill't my e'e,

An' wae to the haly sin-pelter,

Wha kippl't the carl to me.

An' wae to the grey colt that carry't

The sorrowfu' bride o' Troqueer,

An' dool to the day I was marry't

To Wattie the waur o' the wear.

[ published as an old song with additions in the second volume of Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany.—Tune, "Donald."]

awa', come awa',

Come awa' wi' me, Jenny!

Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane,

Whase smiles ance ravish'd me, Jenny.

If you'll be kind, you'll never find

That ought shall alter me, Jenny;

For ye're the mistress of my mind,

Whate'er ye think of me, Jenny!

First when your sweets enslaved my heart,

Ye seem'd to favour me, Jenny;

But now, alas! you act a part

That speaks inconstancie, Jenny.

Inconstancie is sic a vice,

It's not befitting thee, Jenny;

It suits not with your virtue nice,

To carry sae to me, Jenny.

O, haud awa', bide awa',

Haud awa' frae me, Donald!

Your heart is made ower large for ane—

It is not meet for me, Donald.

Some fickle mistress you may find

Will jilt as fast as thee, Donald;

To ilka swain she will prove kind,

And nae less kind to thee, Donald:

But I've a heart that's naething such;

'Tis fill'd wi' honestie, Donald,

I'll ne'er love mony; I'll love much;

I hate all levitie, Donald.

Therefore nae mair, wi' art, pretend

Your heart is chain'd to mine, Donald;

For words of falsehood ill defend

A roving love like thine, Donald.

First when ye courted, I must own,

I frankly favour'd you, Donald;

Apparent worth and fair renown

Made me believe you true, Donald:

Ilk virtue then seem'd to adorn

The man esteem'd by me, Donald;

But now the mask's faun aff, I scorn

To ware a thocht on thee, Donald.

And now for ever haud awa',

Haud awa' frae me, Donald!

Sae, seek a heart that's like your ain,

And come nae mair to me, Donald:

For I'll reserve mysel' for ane,

For ane that's liker me, Donald.

If sic a ane I canna find,

I'll ne'er lo'e man, nor thee, Donald.

Then I'm the man, and fause report

Has only tauld a lie, Jenny;

To try thy truth, and make us sport,

The tale was raised by me, Jenny.

When this ye prove, and still can love,

Then come awa' to me, Donald!

I'm weel content ne'er to repent

That I ha'e smiled on thee, Donald!