Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Songs. IV. Fy, let us a to the WeddingJoanna Baillie (17621851)
F
For they will be lilting there;
For Jock’s to be married to Maggy,
The lass wi’ the gowden hair.
And glancing of bonny dark een,
Loud laughing and smooth-gabbit speering
O’ questions baith pawky and keen.
Wha raises her cockup sae hie,
And giggles at preachings and duty,
Guid grant that she gang na’ ajee!
Wha coft a young wife wi’ his gowd;
She’ll flaunt wi’ a silk gown upon her,
But wow! he looks dowie and cow’d.
Will perk at the tap o’ the ha’,
Encircled wi’ suitors, wha’s care is
To catch up her gloves when they fa’,—
And haver and glower in her face,
When tocherless mays are negleckit,—
A crying and scandalous case.
Wad match her wi’ Laurie the Laird,
And learns the young fule to be vaunty,
But neither to spin nor to caird.
To see him a clerical blade,
Was sent to the college for learning,
And cam’ back a coof as he gaed.
That ca’s hersel thritty and twa!
And thraw-gabbit Madge wha for certain
Was jilted by Hab o’ the Shaw.
A pattern of havens and sense,
Will straik on her mittens sae dainty,
And crack wi’ Mess John i’ the spence.
That sits on the stane at his door,
And tells about bogles, and mair lies
Than tongue ever utter’d before.
Sae ready wi’ hands and wi’ tongue;
Proud Paty and silly Sam Foster,
Wha quarrel wi’ auld and wi’ young:
That trades in his lawerly skill,
Will egg on the fighting and drinking
To bring after-grist to his mill:
And let the wee bridie a-be;
A vilipend tongue is the devil,
And ne’er was encouraged by me.
For they will be lilting there,
Frae mony a far-distant ha’ding,
The fun and the feasting to share.
And browst o’ the barley-mow;
E’en he that comes latest, and lag is,
May feast upon dainties enow:
Weel plenish’d wi’ raisins and fat
Beef, mutton, and chuckies, a’ taken
Het reekin frae spit and frae pat:
To drink the young couple good luck,
Weel fill’d wi’ a braw beechen ladle
Frae punch-bowl as big as Dumbuck.
And reelin and crossin o’ hans,
Till even auld Lucky is laughing,
As back by the aumry she stans.
While fiddlers are making their din;
And pipers are droning and skirling,
As loud as the roar o’ the lin.
For they will be lilting there,
For Jock’s to be married to Maggy,
The lass wi’ the gowden hair.