Site icon Random Scottish History

Muirland Willie, pp.7-10.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

HArken and I will tell you how 

Young Muirland Willie came to woo. 

Tho’ he could neither say nor do; 

The truth I tell to you. 

But ay he cries, whate’er betide, 

Magey I’se ha’e her to be my bride, 

With a fal, dal, &c. 


On his gray yade as he did ride, 

With durk and pistol by his side, 

He prick’d her on wi’ meikle pride, 

Wi’ meikle mirth and glee. 

Out o’er yon moss, out o’er yon muir, 

Till he came to her dady’s door, 

With a fal, dal, &c. 


Goodman, quoth he, be ye within, 

I’m come your doghter’s love to win, 

I care no for making meikle din; 

What answer gi’ ye me? 

Now, woer, quoth he, wou’d ye light down, 

I’ll gie ye my doghter’s love to win, 

With a fal, dal, &c. 


Now, woer, sin ye are lighted down, 

Where do ye win, or in what town? 

I think my doghter winna gloom 

On sick a lad as ye. 

The woer he step’d up the house, 

And wow but he was wond’rous crouse, 

With a fal, dal, &c. 


I have three owsen in a plough, 

Twa good ga’en yads, and gear enough, 

The place they ca’ it Cadeneugh; 

I scorn to tell a lie: 

Resides, I had frae the great laird, 

A peat-pat and a lang kail-yard, 

With a fal, &c. 


The maid pat on her kirtle brown, 

She was the braweft in a’ the town; 

I wat on him she did na gloom, 

But blinkit bonnilie. 

The lover he stended up in haste, 

And gript her hard about the [waist], 

With a fal, &c. 


To win your love, maid, I’m come here, 

I’m young, and hae enough o’ Gear; 

And for my sell ye need na fear, 

Troth try me whan ye like. 

He took aff his bonnet and spat in his Chew, 

He dighted his gab, and he pri’d her mou’, 

With a fal, &c. 


The maiden blusht and bing’d fu law, 

She had na will to say him na, 

But to her dady she left it a’ 

As they twa cou’d agree. 

The lover he ga’e her the tither kiss, 

Syne ran to her dady, and tell’d him this, 

With a fal, &c. 


Your doghter wad na say me na, 

But to your sell she has left it a’, 

As we cou’d gree between us twa; 

Say what’ll ye gi’ me wi’ her? 

Now, woer, quo’ he, I ha’e na meikle, 

But sick’s I ha’e ye’s get a pickle, 

With a fal, &c. 


A kilnfu of corn I’ll gi’e to thee, 

Three soums of sheep, twa good milk ky, 

Ye’s ha’e the wadding dinner free; 

Troth I dow do na mair. 

Content, quo’ he, a bargain be’t, 

I’m far frae hame, make haste let’s do’t, 

With a fal, &c. 


The bridal day it came to pass, 

Wi’ mony a blythsome lad and lass; 

But sicken a day there never was, 

Sic mirth was never seen. 

This win some couple straked hands, 

Mess John ty’d up the marriage bands, 

With a fal, &c. 


And our bride’s maidens were na few, 

Wi’ tap-knots, lug-knots, a’ in blew, 

Frae tap to tae they were braw new, 

And blinkit bonnilie. 

Their toys and mutches were sae clean, 

They glanced in our ladses een, 

With a fal, &c. 


Sick hirdum, dirdum, and sick din, 

Wi’ he o’er her, and she o’er him; 

The minstrels they did never blin, 

Wi’ meikle mirth and glee. 

And ay they bobit, and ay they beckt, 

And ay their wames together met, 

With a fal, &c. 

Old Songs

Exit mobile version