第35章 1795(1)
A Man's A Man For A'That tune-"For a'that."Is there for honest Poverty That hings his head,an'a'that;The coward slave-we pass him by,We dare be poor for a'that!
For a'that,an'a'that.
Our toils obscure an'a'that,The rank is but the guinea's stamp,The Man's the gowd for a'that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,Wear hoddin grey,an'a that;Gie fools their silks,and knaves their wine;A Man's a Man for a'that:
For a'that,and a'that,Their tinsel show,an'a'that;The honest man,tho'e'er sae poor,Is king o'men for a'that.
Ye see yon birkie,ca'd a lord,Wha struts,an'stares,an'a'that;Tho'hundreds worship at his word,He's but a coof for a'that:
For a'that,an'a'that,His ribband,star,an'a'that:
The man o'independent mind He looks an'laughs at a'that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,A marquis,duke,an'a'that;But an honest man's abon his might,Gude faith,he maunna fa'that!
For a'that,an'a'that,Their dignities an'a'that;The pith o'sense,an'pride o'worth,Are higher rank than a'that.
Then let us pray that come it may,(As come it will for a'that,)That Sense and Worth,o'er a'the earth,Shall bear the gree,an'a'that.
For a'that,an'a'that,It's coming yet for a'that,That Man to Man,the world o'er,Shall brothers be for a'that.
Craigieburn Wood Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn,And blythe awakes the morrow;But a'the pride o'Spring's return Can yield me nocht but sorrow.
I see the flowers and spreading trees,I hear the wild birds singing;But what a weary wight can please,And Care his bosom wringing!
Fain,fain would I my griefs impart,Yet dare na for your anger;But secret love will break my heart,If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to pity me,If thou shalt love another,When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,Around my grave they'll wither.
Versicles of 1795
The Solemn League And Covenant The Solemn League and Covenant Now brings a smile,now brings a tear;But sacred Freedom,too,was theirs:
If thou'rt a slave,indulge thy sneer.
Compliments Of John Syme Of Ryedale Lines sent with a Present of a Dozen of Porter.
O had the malt thy strength of mind,Or hops the flavour of thy wit,'Twere drink for first of human kind,A gift that e'en for Syme were fit.
Jerusalem Tavern,Dumfries.
Inscription On A Goblet There's Death in the cup,so beware!
Nay,more-there is danger in touching;
But who can avoid the fell snare,The man and his wine's so bewitching!
Apology For Declining An Invitation To Dine No more of your guests,be they titled or not,And cookery the first in the nation;Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,Is proof to all other temptation.
Epitaph For Mr.Gabriel Richardson Here Brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct,And empty all his barrels:
He's blest-if,as he brew'd,he drink,In upright,honest morals.
Epigram On Mr.James Gracie Gracie,thou art a man of worth,O be thou Dean for ever!
May he be damned to hell henceforth,Who fauts thy weight or measure!
Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay Cauld is the e'enin blast,O'Boreas o'er the pool,An'dawin'it is dreary,When birks are bare at Yule.
Cauld blaws the e'enin blast,When bitter bites the frost,And,in the mirk and dreary drift,The hills and glens are lost:
Ne'er sae murky blew the night That drifted o'er the hill,But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay Gat grist to her mill.
Inscription At Friars'Carse Hermitage To the Memory of Robert Riddell.
To Riddell,much lamented man,This ivied cot was dear;Wandr'er,dost value matchless worth?
This ivied cot revere.
There Was A Bonie Lass There was a bonie lass,and a bonie,bonie lass,And she lo'ed her bonie laddie dear;Till War's loud alarms tore her laddie frae her arms,Wi'mony a sigh and tear.
Over sea,over shore,where the cannons loudly roar,He still was a stranger to fear;And nocht could him quail,or his bosom assail,But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
Wee Willie Gray tune-"Wee Totum Fogg."Wee Willie Gray,and his leather wallet,Peel a willow wand to be him boots and jacket;The rose upon the breir will be him trews an'doublet,The rose upon the breir will be him trews an'doublet,Wee Willie Gray,and his leather wallet,Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.
O Aye My Wife She Dang Me Chorus-O aye my wife she dang me,An'aft my wife she bang'd me,If ye gie a woman a'her will,Gude faith!she'll soon o'er-gang ye.
On peace an'rest my mind was bent,And,fool I was!I married;But never honest man's intent Sane cursedly miscarried.
O aye my wife,&c.
Some sairie comfort at the last,When a'thir days are done,man,My pains o'hell on earth is past,I'm sure o'bliss aboon,man,O aye my wife,&c.
Gude Ale Keeps The Heart Aboon Chorus-O gude ale comes and gude ale goes;Gude ale gars me sell my hose,Sell my hose,and pawn my shoon-Gude ale keeps my heart aboon!
I had sax owsen in a pleugh,And they drew a'weel eneugh:
I sell'd them a'just ane by ane-
Gude ale keeps the heart aboon!
O gude ale comes,&c.
Gude ale hauds me bare and busy,Gars me moop wi'the servant hizzie,Stand i'the stool when I hae done-Gude ale keeps the heart aboon!
O gude ale comes,&c.
O Steer Her Up An'Haud Her Gaun O steer her up,an'haud her gaun,Her mither's at the mill,jo;An'gin she winna tak a man,E'en let her tak her will,jo.
First shore her wi'a gentle kiss,And ca'anither gill,jo;An'gin she tak the thing amiss,E'en let her flyte her fill,jo.
O steer her up,an'be na blate,An'gin she tak it ill,jo,Then leave the lassie till her fate,And time nae langer spill,jo:
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,But think upon it still,jo:
That gin the lassie winna do't,Ye'll find anither will,jo.
The Lass O'Ecclefechan tune-"Jack o'Latin."Gat ye me,O gat ye me,O gat ye me wi'naething?
Rock an reel,and spinning wheel,A mickle quarter basin:
Bye attour my Gutcher has A heich house and a laich ane,A'forbye my bonie sel,The toss o'Ecclefechan.
O haud your tongue now,Lucky Lang,O haud your tongue and jauner I held the gate till you I met,Syne I began to wander:
I tint my whistle and my sang,I tint my peace and pleasure;But your green graff,now Lucky Lang,Wad airt me to my treasure.
O Let Me In Thes Ae Night O Lassie,are ye sleepin yet,Or are ye waukin,I wad wit?
For Love has bound me hand an'fit,And I would fain be in,jo.
Chorus-O let me in this ae night,This ae,ae,ae night;O let me in this ae night,I'll no come back again,jo!
O hear'st thou not the wind an'weet?
Nae star blinks thro'the driving sleet;
Tak pity on my weary feet,And shield me frae the rain,jo.
O let me in,&c.
The bitter blast that round me blaws,Unheeded howls,unheeded fa's;The cauldness o'thy heart's the cause Of a'my care and pine,jo.
O let me in,&c.
Her Answer O tell na me o'wind an'rain,Upbraid na me wi'cauld disdain,Gae back the gate ye cam again,I winna let ye in,jo.
Chorus-I tell you now this ae night,This ae,ae,ae night;And ance for a'this ae night,I winna let ye in,jo.
The snellest blast,at mirkest hours,That round the pathless wand'rer pours Is nocht to what poor she endures,That's trusted faithless man,jo.
I tell you now,&c.
The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead,Now trodden like the vilest weed-Let simple maid the lesson read The weird may be her ain,jo.
I tell you now,&c.
The bird that charm'd his summer day,Is now the cruel Fowler's prey;Let witless,trusting,Woman say How aft her fate's the same,jo!
I tell you now,&c.
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.