Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refused her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her?
He clawed her wi' the riplin-kame,
And blue and bluidy bruised her;
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but had excused her?
I dighted aye her een sae blue,
And bann'd the cruel randy;
And weel I wat her willing mou'
Was e'en like sugar-candy.
A gloamin-shot it was I trow,
I lighted on the Monday;
But I came thro' the Tysday's dew,
To wanton Willie's brandy.
FIRST WHEN MAGGY WAS MY CARE.*
Tune -"Whistle o'er the lave o't."
FIRST When Maggy was my care,
Heaven I thought was in her air;
Now we're married-spier nae mair-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.-
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonnie Meg was nature's child-
Wiser men than me's beguil'd;
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
The music of this song has long been popular and esteemed in the Lowlands. "Gentle and semple" have equally acknowledged its life-invigorating notes.-M.
How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I carena by how few may see;
Whistle o'er the lave o't.-
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Tune-"The deuks dang o'er my Daddie."
THE bairns gat out wi' an unco shout,
The deuks dang o'er my daddie, O!
The fien'-ma-care, quo' the feirrie auld wife,
He was but a paidlin body, O!
He paidles out, and he paidles in,
And he paidles late and early, O!
This seven lang years I hae lien by his side,
And he is hut a fusionless carlie, O!
O, haud your tongue, my feirrie auld wife,
O, haud your tongue, now Nansie, O!
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye,
Ye wadna been sae donsie, O!
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose,
And cuddled me late and early, O!
But downa do's come o'er me now,
And, Oh! I feel it sairly, O!
The air to which this song is written is very old. It was published by Playford nearly two hundred years ago.
also savour much of the olden time.-B.
HER flowing locks, the raven's wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses wat wi' dew,
O, what a feast, her bonnie mou!
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue,
A crimson still diviner.
Tune-"Young Jockey."
YOUNG Jockey was the blythest lad
In a' our town or here awa;
Fu' blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'!
He roosed my e'en sae bonnie blue,
He roos'd my waist saę genty sma;
And aye my heart came to my mou,
When ne'er a body heard or saw.
My Jockey toils upon the plain,
Thro' wind and weet, thro' frost and snaw;
And o'er the lee I leuk fu' fain
When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
And aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';
The tune of this starting verse is not known. Burns, it is said, composed it on the spur of the moment, when he happened to be attracted by a beautiful face, but never finished the song. It is one of those snatches which, it is to be regretted, he did not live to complete.-M.
Tune-"I red you beware at the hunting."
THE heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
Our lads gaed a-hunting, ae day at the dawn,
O'er moors and o'er mosses and mony a glen,
At length they discover'd a bonnie moor-hen.
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
I red you beware at the hunting, young men ;
Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring,
But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen.
Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather bells,
Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy fells;
Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring,
And O! as she wantoned gay on the wing.
Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peep'd o'er the hill,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill;
He levell'd his rays where she bask'd on the brae—
His rays were outshone, and but mark'd where she lay.
They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill;
The best of our lads wi' the best o' their skill;
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
'Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.—
Tune-"Last time I cam o'er the Muir."
YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,
Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With early gems adorning :
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,
And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
Her lips more than the cherries bright,
A richer die has grac'd them,
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight
And sweetly tempt to taste them
Her smile is as the ev'ning mild,
When feather'd pairs are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.
Were fortune lovely Peggy's foe,
Such sweetness would relent her,
As blooming spring unbends the brow
Of surly, savage winter.
Detraction's eye no aim can gain
Her winning powers to lessen ;
And fretful envy grins in vain,
The poison'd tooth to fasten.
This was one of the Poet's earliest compositions. It is copied from a MS. book, which he had before his first publication. Burns appears to have wasted much flattering poesy upon very thankless and ungrateful dames. Young Peggie was one of these-she was worldly wise, and nowise romantic in her affections.-M.
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