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Part XLVIIIPart XLVIII
Part XLVIII
I`ll Aye Ca` In By Yon Town
Air-"I`ll gang nae mair to yon toun."
Chorus-I`ll aye ca` in by yon town,
And by yon garden-green again;
I`ll aye ca` in by yon town,
And see my bonie Jean again.
There`s nane sall ken, there`s nane can guess
What brings me back the gate again,
But she, my fairest faithfu` lass,
And stownlins we sall meet again.
I`ll aye ca` in, &c.
She`ll wander by the aiken tree,
When trystin time draws near again;
And when her lovely form I see,
O haith! she`s doubly dear again.
I`ll aye ca` in, &c.
O Wat Ye Wha`s In Yon Town
tune-"I`ll gang nae mair to yon toun."
Chorus-O wat ye wha`s in yon town,
Ye see the e`enin sun upon,
The dearest maid`s in yon town,
That e`ening sun is shining on.
Now haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How blest ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances o` her e`e!
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
How blest ye birds that round her sing,
And welcome in the blooming year;
And doubly welcome be the Spring,
The season to my Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
The sun blinks blythe on yon town,
Among the broomy braes sae green;
But my delight in yon town,
And dearest pleasure, is my Jean.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
Without my Fair, not a` the charms
O` Paradise could yield me joy;
But give me Jeanie in my arms
And welcome Lapland`s dreary sky!
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
My cave wad be a lover`s bower,
Tho` raging Winter rent the air;
And she a lovely little flower,
That I wad tent and shelter there.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
O sweet is she in yon town,
The sinkin, sun`s gane down upon;
A fairer than`s in yon town,
His setting beam ne`er shone upon.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
If angry Fate is sworn my foe,
And suff`ring I am doom`d to bear;
I careless quit aught else below,
But spare, O spare me Jeanie dear.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
For while life`s dearest blood is warm,
Ae thought frae her shall ne`er depart,
And she, as fairest is her form,
She has the truest, kindest heart.
O wat ye wha`s, &c.
Ballads on Mr. Heron`s Election, 1795
Ballad First
Whom will you send to London town,
To Parliament and a` that?
Or wha in a` the country round
The best deserves to fa` that?
For a` that, and a` that,
Thro` Galloway and a` that,
Where is the Laird or belted Knight
The best deserves to fa` that?
Wha sees Kerroughtree`s open yett,
(And wha is`t never saw that?)
Wha ever wi` Kerroughtree met,
And has a doubt of a` that?
For a` that, and a` that,
Here`s Heron yet for a` that!
The independent patriot,
The honest man, and a` that.
Tho` wit and worth, in either sex,
Saint Mary`s Isle can shaw that,
Wi` Dukes and Lords let Selkirk mix,
And weel does Selkirk fa` that.
For a` that, and a` that,
Here`s Heron yet for a` that!
The independent commoner
Shall be the man for a` that.
But why should we to Nobles jouk,
And is`t against the law, that?
For why, a Lord may be a gowk,
Wi` ribband, star and a` that,
For a` that, and a` that,
Here`s Heron yet for a` that!
A Lord may be a lousy loun,
Wi` ribband, star and a` that.
A beardless boy comes o`er the hills,
Wi` uncle`s purse and a` that;
But we`ll hae ane frae mang oursels,
A man we ken, and a` that.
For a` that, and a` that,
Here`s Heron yet for a` that!
For we`re not to be bought and sold,
Like naigs, and nowt, and a` that.
Then let us drink-The Stewartry,
Kerroughtree`s laird, and a` that,
Our representative to be,
For weel he`s worthy a` that.
For a` that, and a` that,
Here`s Heron yet for a` that!
A House of Commons such as he,
They wad be blest that saw that.
Ballad Second-Election Day
tune-"Fy, let us a` to the Bridal."
Fy, let us a` to Kirkcudbright,
For there will be bickerin` there;
For Murray`s light horse are to muster,
And O how the heroes will swear!
And there will be Murray, Commander,
And Gordon, the battle to win;
Like brothers they`ll stand by each other,
Sae knit in alliance and kin.
And there will be black-nebbit Johnie,
The tongue o` the trump to them a`;
An he get na Hell for his haddin`,
The Deil gets na justice ava.
And there will be Kempleton`s birkie,
A boy no sae black at the bane;
But as to his fine Nabob fortune,
We`ll e`en let the subject alane.
And there will be Wigton`s new Sheriff;
Dame Justice fu` brawly has sped,
She`s gotten the heart of a Bushby,
But, Lord! what`s become o` the head?
And there will be Cardoness, Esquire,
Sae mighty in Cardoness` eyes;
A wight that will weather damnation,
The Devil the prey will despise.
And there will be Douglasses doughty,
New christening towns far and near;
Abjuring their democrat doings,
By kissin` the-o` a Peer:
And there will be folk frae Saint Mary`s
A house o` great merit and note;
The deil ane but honours them highly-
The deil ane will gie them his vote!
And there will be Kenmure sae gen`rous,
Whose honour is proof to the storm,
To save them from stark reprobation,
He lent them his name in the Firm.
And there will be lads o` the gospel,
Muirhead wha`s as gude as he`s true;
And there will be Buittle`s Apostle,
Wha`s mair o` the black than the blue.
And there will be Logan M`Dowall,
Sculdudd`ry an` he will be there,
And also the Wild Scot o` Galloway,
Sogering, gunpowder Blair.
But we winna mention Redcastle,
The body, e`en let him escape!
He`d venture the gallows for siller,
An `twere na the cost o` the rape.
But where is the Doggerbank hero,
That made "Hogan Mogan" to skulk?
Poor Keith`s gane to hell to be fuel,
The auld rotten wreck of a Hulk.
And where is our King`s Lord Lieutenant,
Sae fam`d for his gratefu` return?
The birkie is gettin` his Questions
To say in Saint Stephen`s the morn.
But mark ye! there`s trusty Kerroughtree,
Whose honor was ever his law;
If the Virtues were pack`d in a parcel,
His worth might be sample for a`;
And strang an` respectfu`s his backing,
The maist o` the lairds wi` him stand;
Nae gipsy-like nominal barons,
Wha`s property`s paper-not land.
And there, frae the Niddisdale borders,
The Maxwells will gather in droves,
Teugh Jockie, staunch Geordie, an` Wellwood,
That griens for the fishes and loaves;
And there will be Heron, the Major,
Wha`ll ne`er be forgot in the Greys;
Our flatt`ry we`ll keep for some other,
Him, only it`s justice to praise.
And there will be maiden Kilkerran,
And also Barskimming`s gude Knight,
And there will be roarin Birtwhistle,
Yet luckily roars i` the right.
And there`ll be Stamp Office Johnie,
(Tak tent how ye purchase a dram!)
And there will be gay Cassencarry,
And there`ll be gleg Colonel Tam.
And there`ll be wealthy young Richard,
Dame Fortune should hing by the neck,
For prodigal, thriftless bestowing-
His merit had won him respect.
And there will be rich brother nabobs,
(Tho` Nabobs, yet men not the worst,)
And there will be Collieston`s whiskers,
And Quintin-a lad o` the first.
Then hey! the chaste Interest o` Broughton
And hey! for the blessin`s `twill bring;
It may send Balmaghie to the Commons,
In Sodom `twould make him a king;
And hey! for the sanctified Murray,
Our land wha wi` chapels has stor`d;
He founder`d his horse among harlots,
But gied the auld naig to the Lord.
Ballad Third
John Bushby`s Lamentation.
tune-"Babes in the Wood."
`Twas in the seventeen hunder year
O` grace, and ninety-five,
That year I was the wae`est man
Of ony man alive.
In March the three-an`-twentieth morn,
The sun raise clear an` bright;
But oh! I was a waefu` man,
Ere to-fa` o` the night.
Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land,
Wi` equal right and fame,
And thereto was his kinsmen join`d,
The Murray`s noble name.
Yerl Galloway`s man o` men was I,
And chief o` Broughton`s host;
So twa blind beggars, on a string,
The faithfu` tyke will trust.
But now Yerl Galloway`s sceptre`s broke,
And Broughton`s wi` the slain,
And I my ancient craft may try,
Sin` honesty is gane.
`Twas by the banks o` bonie Dee,
Beside Kirkcudbright`s towers,
The Stewart and the Murray there,
Did muster a` their powers.
Then Murray on the auld grey yaud,
Wi` winged spurs did ride,
That auld grey yaud a` Nidsdale rade,
He staw upon Nidside.
And there had na been the Yerl himsel,
O there had been nae play;
But Garlies was to London gane,
And sae the kye might stray.
And there was Balmaghie, I ween,
In front rank he wad shine;
But Balmaghie had better been
Drinkin` Madeira wine.
And frae Glenkens cam to our aid
A chief o` doughty deed;
In case that worth should wanted be,
O` Kenmure we had need.
And by our banners march`d Muirhead,
And Buittle was na slack;
Whase haly priesthood nane could stain,
For wha could dye the black?
And there was grave squire Cardoness,
Look`d on till a` was done;
Sae in the tower o` Cardoness
A howlet sits at noon.
And there led I the Bushby clan,
My gamesome billie, Will,
And my son Maitland, wise as brave,
My footsteps follow`d still.
The Douglas and the Heron`s name,
We set nought to their score;
The Douglas and the Heron`s name,
Had felt our weight before.
But Douglasses o` weight had we,
The pair o` lusty lairds,
For building cot-houses sae fam`d,
And christenin` kail-yards.
And there Redcastle drew his sword,
That ne`er was stain`d wi` gore,
Save on a wand`rer lame and blind,
To drive him frae his door.
And last cam creepin` Collieston,
Was mair in fear than wrath;
Ae knave was constant in his mind-
To keep that knave frae scaith.
Inscription For An Altar Of Independence
At Kerroughtree, the Seat of Mr. Heron.
Thou of an independent mind,
With soul resolv`d, with soul resign`d;
Prepar`d Power`s proudest frown to brave,
Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,
Thy own reproach alone dost fear-
Approach this shrine, and worship here.
The Cardin O`t, The Spinnin O`t
I coft a stane o` haslock woo`,
To mak a wab to Johnie o`t;
For Johnie is my only jo,
I loe him best of onie yet.
Chorus-The cardin` o`t, the spinnin` o`t,
The warpin` o`t, the winnin` o`t;
When ilka ell cost me a groat,
The tailor staw the lynin` o`t.
For tho` his locks be lyart grey,
And tho` his brow be beld aboon,
Yet I hae seen him on a day,
The pride of a` the parishen.
The cardin o`t, &c.
The Cooper O` Cuddy
tune-"Bab at the bowster."
Chorus-We`ll hide the Cooper behint the door,
Behint the door, behint the door,
We`ll hide the Cooper behint the door,
And cover him under a mawn, O.
The Cooper o` Cuddy came here awa,
He ca`d the girrs out o`er us a`;
An` our gudewife has gotten a ca`,
That`s anger`d the silly gudeman O.
We`ll hide the Cooper, &c.
He sought them out, he sought them in,
Wi` deil hae her! an`, deil hae him!
But the body he was sae doited and blin`,
He wist na where he was gaun O.
We`ll hide the Cooper, &c.
They cooper`d at e`en, they cooper`d at morn,
Till our gudeman has gotten the scorn;
On ilka brow she`s planted a horn,
And swears that there they sall stan` O.
We`ll hide the Cooper, &c.
The Lass That Made The Bed To Me
When Januar` wind was blawing cauld,
As to the north I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
I knew na where to lodge till day:
By my gude luck a maid I met,
Just in the middle o` my care,
And kindly she did me invite
To walk into a chamber fair.
I bow`d fu` low unto this maid,
And thank`d her for her courtesie;
I bow`d fu` low unto this maid,
An` bade her make a bed to me;
She made the bed baith large and wide,
Wi` twa white hands she spread it doun;
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
And drank-"Young man, now sleep ye soun`."
Chorus-The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me,
I`ll ne`er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
She snatch`d the candle in her hand,
And frae my chamber went wi` speed;
But I call`d her quickly back again,
To lay some mair below my head:
A cod she laid below my head,
And served me with due respect,
And, to salute her wi` a kiss,
I put my arms about her neck.
The bonie lass, &c.
"Haud aff your hands, young man!" she said,
"And dinna sae uncivil be;
Gif ye hae ony luve for me,
O wrang na my virginitie."
Her hair was like the links o` gowd,
Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
The lass that made the bed to me:
The bonie lass, &c.
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
Her limbs the polish`d marble stane,
The lass that made the bed to me.
I kiss`d her o`er and o`er again,
And aye she wist na what to say:
I laid her `tween me and the wa`;
The lassie thocht na lang till day.
The bonie lass, &c.
Upon the morrow when we raise,
I thank`d her for her courtesie;
But aye she blush`d and aye she sigh`d,
And said, "Alas, ye`ve ruin`d me."
I claps`d her waist, and kiss`d her syne,
While the tear stood twinkling in her e`e;
I said, my lassie, dinna cry.
For ye aye shall make the bed to me.
The bonie lass, &c.
She took her mither`s holland sheets,
An` made them a` in sarks to me;
Blythe and merry may she be,
The lass that made the bed to me.
Chorus-The bonie lass made the bed to me,
The braw lass made the bed to me.
I`ll ne`er forget till the day I die,
The lass that made the bed to me.
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