[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
To the Tune of, Dainty Davie.
–
WHile fops in fast Italian verse,
Ilk fair ane’s een and breast reherse,
While sangs abound and scene is scarce,
These lines I have indited:
But neither darts nor arrows here,
Venus nor Cupid shall appear,
And yet with these fine sounds I swear,
The maidens are delighted.
I was ay telling you,
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy,
Auld springs wadding the new,
But ye wad never trow me.
–
Nor snaw with crimson will I mix,
To spread upon my Lassie’s cheeks;
And syne the unmeaning name perfix,
Miranda, Chloe, or Phillis.
I’ll fetch nae smile frae Jove,
My height of extasy to prove,
Nor sighing, – thus – present my love
With roses eek and lillies.
I was ay telling you, &c.
–
But stay, – I had amaist forgot
My mistress, and my sang to boot,
And that’s an unco’ faur I wate:
But Nansy, ‘tis nae matter.
Ye see I clink my verse wi’ rhime,
And ken ye, that atones the crime;
Forby, how sweet my numbers chime,
And slide away like water.
I was ay telling you, &c.
–
Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair,
Thy runkled cheeks and lyart hair,
Thy haff shut een and hodling air,
Are a’ my passion’s fewel.
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see,
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee;
Yet thou has charms anew for me,
Then smile, and be na cruel
Leez me on thy snawy pow,
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy,
Dryest wood will eithest low,
And Nansy sae will ye now.
–
Troth I have sung the sang to you,
Which ne’er anither bard wad do;
Hear then my charitable vow,
Dear venerable Nansy.
But if the world my passion wrang,
And say, ye only live in sang,
Ken I despise a flandring tongue,
And sing to please my fancy.
Leez me on thy, &c.
– Old Songs with Additions.
