There’s a boatfu’ o’ lads
Come to our town to sell.
Chorus.—The wean wants a cradle,
And the cradle wants a cod:
I’ll no gang to my bed,
Until I get a nod.
Father, quo’ she, Mither, quo she,
Do what you can,
I’ll no gang to my bed,
Until I get a man.
The wean, &c.
I hae as gude a craft rig
As made o’yird and stane;
And waly fa’ the ley-crap,
For I maun till’d again.
The wean, &c.
Similar Posts
O MARY, at thy window be,
Those smiles and glances let me see,That make the miser’s treasure poor:How blythely was I bide the stour,A weary slave frae sun to sun,Could I the rich reward secure,The lovely Mary Morison.Yestreen, when to the trembling stringThe dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’,To thee my fancy took its wing,I sat, but neither heard nor saw:Tho’…
WHILE briers an’ woodbines budding green,
An’ morning poussie whiddin seen,Inspire my muse,This freedom, in an unknown frien’,I pray excuse.On Fasten-e’en we had a rockin,To ca’ the crack and weave our stockin;And there was muckle fun and jokin,Ye need na doubt;At length we had a hearty yokinAt sang about.There was ae sang, amang the rest,Aboon them a’ it pleas’d me best,That…
YE sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie,
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such anotherTo sit in that honoured station.I’ve little to say, but only to pray,As praying’s the ton of your fashion;A prayer from thee Muse you well may excuse‘Tis seldom her favourite passion.Ye powers who preside o’er the wind, and the tide,Who markèd each element’s border;Who formed this frame with…
I HAE a wife of my ain,
I’ll take Cuckold frae nane,I’ll gie Cuckold to naebody.I hae a penny to spend,There—thanks to naebody!I hae naething to lend,I’ll borrow frae naebody.I am naebody’s lord,I’ll be slave to naebody;I hae a gude braid sword,I’ll tak dunts frae naebody.I’ll be merry and free,I’ll be sad for naebody;Naebody cares for me,I care for naebody.
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e’er I spend,Are spent amang the lasses, O!There’s nought but care on every han’In every hour that passes, O;What signifies the life o’ man,An ’twere na for the lasses, O?The warl’ly race may riches chase,An’ riches still may fly them, O;An’ though at last they catch them fast,Their hearts can ne’er…
WHY, why tell thy lover
Why, why undeceive him,And give all his hopes the lie?O why, while fancy, raptur’d slumbers,‘Chloris, Chloris’ all the theme,Why, why would’st thou, cruel—Wake thy lover from his dream?