To the Tune of, Jenny beguil’d the Webster.
The auld chorous.
Up stairs, down stairs,
Timber stairs fear me.
I’m laith to ly a night my lane,
And Johny’s bed sae near me.
O Mither dear, I ‘gin to fear,
Tho’ I’m baith good and bony,
I winna keep; for in my sleep
I start and dream of Johny.
When Johny then comes down the glen,
To woo me, dinna hinder;
But with content gi’ your consent;
For we twa ne’er can sinder.
Better to marry, than miscarry,
For shame and skaith’s the clink o’t,
To thole the dool, to mount the stool,
I downa ‘bide to think o’t;
Sae while ‘tis time, I’ll shun the crime,
That gars poor Epps gae whinging,
With hainches sow, and een sae blew,
To a’ the bedrals bindging.
Had Eppy’s apron bidden down,
The kirk had ne’er a kend it;
But when the word’s gane thro’ the town,
Alake! how can she mend it.
Now Tam maun face the minister,
And she maun mount the pillar;
And that’s the way that they maun gae,
For poor folk has na siller.
Now had ye’r tongue, my daughter young,
Replied the kindly mither,
Get Johny’s hand in haly band,
Syne wap ye’r wealth together.
I’m o’ the mind, if he be kind,
Ye’ll do your part discreetly;
And prove a wife, will gar his life,
And barrel run right sweetly.