The Canongate Burns (136 page)
Read The Canongate Burns Online
Authors: Robert Burns
Tune: Queensberry's Scots Measure
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
I coft a stane o' haslock woo,
bought, 14lbs, soft wool
      To mak a wab to Johnie o't;
web
For Johnie is my onlie jo,
darling
      I lo'e him best of onie yet. â
love, any
Chorus
5
The cardin o't, the spinnin o't,
      The warpin o't, the winnin o't;
rolling, drying
When ilka ell cost me a groat,
each yard, fourpence
      The tailor staw the lynin o't. â
stole
For tho' his locks be lyart gray,
withered
10
      And tho' his brow be beld aboon,
bald above
Yet I hae seen him on a day
have
      The pride of a' the parishon. â
parish around
            The cardin o't &c.
This was signed âZ' in the S.M.M. It is an old song modified by Burns. Cunningham suggests, in error, that it is completely by Burns.
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
IT'S up wi' the Sutors o' Selkirk,
cobblers
      And down wi' the Earl o' Hume;
And here is to a' the braw laddies
fine
      That wear the single sol'd shoon:
soled shoes
Its up wi' the Sutors o' Selkirk,
      For they are baith trusty and leal;
both, true
And up wi' the lads o' the Forest,
      And down wi' the Merse to the deil. â
devil
This song is based on a group of cobblers from Selkirk who fought for James IV at Flodden, 1513. The defeat was blamed on the Earl of Hume (l.2). The forest (l. 7) is Etterick Forest in the Borders and the Merse (l. 8) refers to a county in Berwickshire.
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen,
      There's o'er mony wooin at her,
chasing after
Tibbie Fowler o' the glen,
      There's o'er mony wooin at her.
too many
Chorus
5
Wooin at her, pu'in at her,
pulling
      Courtin at her, canna get her:
cannot
Filthy elf, it's for her pelf,
money
      That a' the lads are wooin at her.
all
Ten cam east, and ten cam west,
came
10
      Ten cam rowin o'er the water;
Twa came down the lang dyke side,
two, long wall
      There's twa and thirty wooin at her.
two
            Wooin at her, &c.
There's seven but, and seven ben,
outside, inside
      Seven in the pantry wi' her;
15
Twenty head about the door,
at
      There's ane and forty wooin at her.
one
            Wooin at her &c.
She's got pendles in her lugs,
pendants, ears
      Cockle-shells wad set her better;
would suit
High-heel'd shoon and siller tags,
shoes, silver
20
      And a' the lads are wooin at her.
            Wooin at her &c.
Be a lassie e'er sae black,
ever so
      An she hae the name o' siller,
have, money
Set her upo' Tintock-tap,
hill top
      The wind will blaw a man till her.
blow, to her
            Wooing at her &c.
25
Be a lassie e'er sae fair,
ever so
      And she want the pennie siller,
lack silver
A flie may fell her in the air,
fly, kill
      Before a man be even till her.
            Wooin at her &c.
Burns collected this old ballad, improved the original and added some new stanzas. Two fragments of the old song exist in the Herd manuscript collection. The âTintock-tap', l. 23 refers to the Tinto Hill, a peak in Lanarkshire above 2000 ft.
Tune: Three Gude Fellows Ayont the Glen
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
There's three true gude fellows,
good
There's three true gude fellows,
There's three true gude fellows
      Down ayont yon glen.
beyond that
It's now the day is dawin,
dawning
But or night do fa' in,
before nightfall
Whase cock's best at crawin,
whose, crowing
      Willie thou sall ken.
shall know
This song is the product of a promise Burns made to his Edinburgh friend Alexander Cunningham, that he would write a song on Cunningham, Robert Cleghorn and William Dunbar, all members of the Crochallan Fencibles (See Letter 336).
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
WHEN Januar wind was blawin cauld,
blowing cold
      As to the North I took my way,
The mirksome night did me enfauld,
darksome, enfold
      I knew na where to lodge till day.
not
5
By my gude luck a maid I met
good
      Just in the middle o' my care;
And kindly she did me invite
      To walk into a chamber fair. â
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
full/well
10
      And thank'd her for her courtesie;
I bow'd fu' low unto this maid,
      An' bade her mak a bed to me. â
She made the bed baith large and wide,
both
      Wi' twa white hands she spread it down;
two
15
She put the cup to her rosy lips,
      And drank, âYoung man now sleep ye soun'.' â
sound
She snatch'd the candle in her hand,
      And frae my chamber went wi' speed;
from
But I call'd her quickly back again
20
      To lay some mair below my head.â
more
A cod she laid below my head,
pillow
      And servèd me with due respeck;
respect
And to salute her wi' a kiss,
      I put my arms about her neck.â
25
Haud aff your hands young man, she says,
hold off
      And dinna sae uncivil be:
do not so
Gif ye hae onie luve for me,
if, have any
      O wrang na my virginitie!â
wrong not
Her hair was like the links o' gowd,
gold
30
      Her teeth were like the ivorie,
Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine,
      The lass that made the bed to me. â
Her bosom was the driven snaw,
snow
      Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see;
two, so
35
Her limbs the polish'd marble stane,
stone
      The lass that made the bed to me.â
I kiss'd her o'er and o'er again,
      And ay she wist na what to say;
knew not
I laid her 'tween me an' the wa',
wall
40
      The lassie thocht na lang till day.â
thought it not long
Upon the morrow when we rase,
      I thank'd her for her courtesie:
But ay she blush'd, and ay she sigh'd,
      And said, Alas, ye've ruin'd me. â
45
I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her syne,
then
      While the tear stood twinklin in her e'e;
eye
I said, My lassie, dinna cry,
do not
      For ye ay shall mak the bed to me.â
always
She took her mither's holland sheets
mother's, fine linen
50
      An' made them a' in sarks to me:
shirts
Blythe and merry may she be,
      The lass that made the bed to me. â
The bonie lass made the bed to me,
      The braw lass made the bed to me; fine
55
I'll ne'er forget till the day I die
      The lass that made the bed to me. â
Although Johnson printed this song as âWritten for this work by Robert Burns' it is not completely original. It is based upon an old lyric,
Cumberland Nelly
, sometimes called
The North County Lovers
,
from the Pepys collection. (See HenleyâHenderson, Vol. III, p. 420). Burns did not only preserve Scots songs in the Museum collection, but, as in this case, turned traditional English lyrics into Scots.
Tune: Dalkeith Maiden Bridge
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
O SAD and heavy should I part,
      But for her sake sae far awa;
so, away
Unknowing what my way may thwart,
      My native land sae far awa.â
5
Thou that of a' things Maker art,
all
      That formed this Fair sae far awa,
Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start
give
      At this my way sae far awa.
How true is love to pure desert,
10
      So love to her, sae far awa,
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart,
nothing
      While Oh, she is sae far awa.â
Nane other love, nane other dart,
no
      I feel, but hers sae far awa;
so
15
But fairer never touched a heart,
      Than hers, the Fair sae far awa.â
This was signed âB' in the S.M.M. There is no evidence among the poet's letters to suggest a heroine of the song existed.
Tune: The Reel o' Stumpie.
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
WAP and row, wap and row,
wrap, roll
      Wap and row the feetie o't,
feet
I thought I was a maiden fair,
      Till I heard the greetie o't.
crying
My daddie was a Fiddler fine,
      My minnie she made mantie O;
mother, a dress maker
And I myself a thumpin quine,
strapping lassie
      And danc'd the Reel o' Stumpie O.
This was unsigned in the S.M.M. It is based upon the bawdy lyric preserved in the
Merry Muses of Caledonia
.
First printed in Johnson, 1796.
Aften hae I play'd at the cards and the dice,
often have
       For the love of a rantin laddie;
But now I maun sit at my father's kitchen neuk,
must, corner
       Below a bastart babie.â
5
For my father he will not me own,
       And my mother she neglects me,
And a' my friends hae lightlyed me,
have slandered
       And their servants they do slight me.â
But had I a servant at my command,
10
       As aft-times I've had many,
oft-
That wad rin wi' a letter to bonie Glenswood,
would run
       Wi' a letter to my rantin laddie.â
Oh, is he either a laird, or a lord,
       Or is he but a cadie,
rascal
15
That ye do him ca' sae aft by name,
call so often
       Your bonie, bonie rantin ladie.â
Indeed he is baith a laird and a lord,
both
       And he was never a cadie;
rascal
But he is the Earl o' bonie Aboyne,
20
       And he is my rantin laddie.â
O ye 'se get a servant at your command,
       As aft times ye've had many,
oft
That sall rin wi' a letter to bonie Glenswood,
shall run
       A letter to your rantin laddie.â
25
When lord Aboyne did letter get,
       O but he blinket bonie;
glanced well
But or he read three lines of it,
by the time
       I think his heart was sorry.â
O wha is he daur be sae bauld, who,
dare, so bold
30
       Sae cruelly to use my lassie?
so
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
For her father he will not her know
       And her mother she does slight her,
35
And a' her friend hae lightlyed her,
have slandered
       And their servants they neglect her.â
Go raise to me five hundred men,
       Make haste and make them ready;
With a milkwhite steed under every ane, one
40
       For to bring hame my lady.â home
As they cam in thro Buchan shire,
       They were a company bonie,
With a gude claymore in every hand,
good
       And O, but they shin'd bonie.â
shone
This is a song collected and only marginally improved by Burns from the original song,
Lord Aboyne
. Burns may have picked it up during his 1787 visit to the north-east of Scotland, or in Dumfries from one of the Highland soldiers in barracks there during the mid- 1790s.
