The Oreeginal Orthographies - Hallow-Fair

At Hallowmas, whan nights grow lang,
And starnies shine fu' clear,
Whan fock, the nippin cauld to bang,
Their winter hap-warms wear,
Near Edinbrough a fair there hads,
I wat there's nane whase name is,
For strappin dames an sturdy lads,
And cap and stoup, mair famous
Than it that day.

Upo' the tap o' ilka lum
The sun bagan to keek,
And bad the trig made maidens come
A sightly joe to seek
At Hallow-fair, whare browsters rare
Keep gude ale on the gantries,
And dinna scrimp ye o' a skair
O' kebbucks frae their pantries,
Fu' saut that day.

Here country John in bonnet blue,
An' eke his Sunday claise on,
Rins efter Meg wi' rokelay new,
An' sappy kisses lays on;
She'll tauntin say, ye silly coof!
Be o' your gab mair spairin;
He'll tak the hint, and criesh her loof
Wi' what will buy her fairin,
To chow that day.

Here chapman billies tak their stand,
An' shaw their bonny wallies;
Wow, but they lie fu' gleg aff hand
To trick the silly fallows:
Heh, Sirs! what cairds and tinklers come,
An' ne'er-do-weel horse-coupers,
An' spae-wives fenzying to be dumb,
Wi' a' siclike landloupers,
To thrive that day.

Here Sawny cries, frae Aberdeen;
'Come ye to me fa need:
The brawest shanks that e'er were seen
I'll sell ye cheap an' guid.
I wyt they are as protty hose
As come fae weyr or leem:
Here tak a rug, and shaw's your pose:
Forseeth, my ain's but teem
An' light this day.'

Ye wives, as ye gang thro' the fair,
mak your bargains hooly!
O' a' thir wylie lowns beware,
Or fegs they will ye spulzie.
For fairn-year Meg Thamson got,
Frae thir mischievous villains,
A scaw'd bit o' a penny note,
That lost a score o' shillins
To her that day.

The dinlin drums alarm our ears,
The serjeant screechs fu' loud,
'A' gentlemen and volunteers
That wish your country gude,
Come here to me, and I shall gie
Twa guineas and a crown,
A bowl o' punch, that like the sea
Will soum a lang dragoon
Wi' ease this day.'

Without the cuissers prance and nicker,
An' our the ley-rig scud;
In tents the carles bend the bicker,
An' rant an' roar like wud.
Then there's sic yellowchin and din,
Wi' wives and wee-anes gablin,
That ane might true they were a-kin
To a' the tongues at Babylon,
Confus'd that day.

Whan Phoebus ligs in Thetis lap,
Auld Reekie gies them shelter,
Whare cadgily they kiss the cap,
An' ca't round helter-skelter.
Jock Bell gaed furth to play his freaks,
Great cause he had to rue it,
For frae a stark Lochaber aix
He gat a clamihewit
Fu' sair that night.

'Ohon!' quo' he, 'I'd rather be
By sword or bagnet stickit,
Than hae my crown or body wi'
Sic deadly weapons nicket.'
Wi' that he gat anither straik
Mair weighty than before,
That gar'd his feckless body aik,
An' spew the reikin gore,
Fu' red that night.

He pechin on the cawsey lay,
O' kicks and cuffs weel sair'd;
A Highland aith the serjeant gae,
'She maun pe see our guard.'
Out spak the weirlike corporal,
'Pring in ta drunken groat,
For that neist day.

Good focks, as ye come frae the fair,
Bide yont frae this black squad;
There's nae sic savages elsewhere
Allow'd to wear cockade.
Than the strong lions's hungry maw,
Or tusk o' Russian bear,
Frae their wanruly fellin paw
Mair cause ye hae to fear
Your death that day.

A wee soup drink dis unco weel
To had the heart aboon;
It's good as lang's a canny chiel
Can stand steeve in his shoon.
But gin a birkie 's owr weel sair'd,
It gars him aften stammer
To pleys taht bring him to the guard,
An' eke the Council-chawmir,
Wi' shame that day.

~Lizzy~

The Maukin An The Hurcheon

This auld sang is sweir tae tell, laddies, but it's suithfast aw the same, acause ma gutcher, wha A hae it fae, wis aye mynt, whan he telt it me, tae say,
"Suithfast it maun be, ma son, acause ye canna tell it ony ither wey."
The story happent lik sae. It wis on a Sawbath morn juist afore the hairst, juist as the buckwheat wis flouerin. The sun haed hoven bricht in the hievins, the mornin wind blew wairm oot ower the stibble, the laverocks singit in the lift, the bumbees bummed in the buckwheat an the fowk gaed til the kirk in thair Sunday braws, an aw craiturs wis canty. The hurcheon an aw. The hurcheon stuid afore his door, plettit his airms, keekit oot intil the mornin wind an liltit a wee sang intil hissel, sae guid an sae ill as a hurcheon coud sing on a braw Sawbath morn. An as he wis liltin hauf souch intil hissel, he mynt his wife haed sin syne wuishen an dryit the bairns, an thay coud gang daunder in the pairk an see hou his neeps wis daein. The neeps wis the neist anes til his hoose an he wis aye mynt tae eat thaim wi his faimly, that's hou he seen thaim as his ain. Said an duin. The hurcheon steekit the hoose door ahint him an strack his gate intil the pairk. He wisna gey an faur fae his hoose an wis juist aboot tae gang aboot the slaebuss that grew afore the pairk for tae turn up til the neep field, whan he comes ower the maukin, wha wis oot an aboot wi seemlar ploy, that wis, for tae see his kail. Whan the hurcheon coud see the maukin he bid him a freendly guid morn, but the maukin, wha wis a bien chiel in his ain wey, an gruesome heich-heidit wi't, didna repone til the hurcheon's goamin, but said til the hurcheon, pittin on a mauchtie murgeon.
"Hou come ye're awreddies daunderin aboot the pairk on sic a canty morn?"
"A'm awa for a daunder", said the hurcheon.
"Daunder?" leuch the maukin, "A thocht ye coud uise yer shanks for mair better things."
Thon repone fasht the hurcheon a fair bit, for he can thole awthing, but he winna tak ocht anent his shanks, acause by naitur thay war camshauchelt.
"Ye hae a guid conceit o yersel", said the hurcheon tae the maukin,
"Lik ye coud dae mair wi yer shanks?"
"A think that", said the maukin.
"A s' warren on thon" thocht the hurcheon.
"A wad, gin we rin a kemp A s' rin past ye."
"thon gars me lauch, ye wi yer camshauchelt shanks", said the maukin.
"For ma sakes mak it yer ain gin ye're sae keen on't. Whit's the wad?"
"A gowden louis-d'or an a bottle o whisky", said the hurcheon.
"It's a deal", spak the maukin, "crack luifs, an we can stairt straucht awa."
"Nae, A'm no needin sic a breeshle", thocht the hurcheon.
"Ma kyte is aye still tuim; first A want tae gang hame for tae hae a bit brakfast, in a hauf oor A'll be back here on ma steid."
Wi thon the hurcheon gaed, for he wis pleased wi the maukin.

Unnerwey the hurcheon thocht til hissel,
"The maukin is lippnin on his lang shanks, but A'll lat him see. Deed ay, he's a bien chiel, still an on a dunder-heid an aw, an he'll hae tae pey."
As the hurcheon gat hame, he spak til his wife,
"wife cleid yersel fast, ye maun gang oot the pairk wi me."
"Whit's gaun on?" said his wife.
"A'v a wad agin the maukin for a gowden louis-d'or an bottle o whisky, A want tae rin a kemp wi him an ye're gaun tae be alang wi's."
"By crivens man" scraicht the hurcheon's wife, "hiv ye tint aw yer mense? Hou can ye want tae rin a kemp wi the maukin?"
"Haud yer tongue wife" said the hurcheon, "Thon's ma maiter. Dinna pit yer spuin in men's dealins. Mairch, cleid yersel an come wi us."
Whit shoud the hurcheon's wife dae? She maun follae, gin she wants tae or no. As thay wis unnerwey thegither, the hurcheon spak til his wife,
"Nou tak tent tae whit A hae tae say. D'ye see, up thare? Thon lang field's waur we're gaun tae rin wir kemp. The maukin rins in the ae furr an me in anither, an we stairt tae rin fae up thare. Nou ye dinna hae tae dae ocht ense but tae stell yersel doun here in the furr, an whan the maukin comes up the tither side, sae ye cry til him - 'A'm here awreddies!' "

Wi thon thay haed wun til the field, the hurcheon shawed his wife her steid an syne gaed up the field. As he gat til the tap the maukin wis thare awreddies.
"Can it stairt?" said the maukin.
"Ay!" said the hurcheon. "On wi't!"
An wi thon ilkane stellt thirsels in thair furr. The maukin coontit,
"ane, twa, three"
An aff he gaed doun the field lik a storm wind. But the hurcheon ran aboot three staps, syne he joukit hissel doun in the furr an bade sittin quate. As the maukin wan doun the field, the hurcheon's wife cryed til him,
" A'm here awreddies!"
The maukin stoppit deid an wis a bittie stammygastert. He thocht it wis nane ither nor the hurcheon hissel that wis rinnin til him, as is weel kent, the hurcheon's wife is the marrae o her guidman. But the maukin thocht,
"Thare's something joukerie-pawkerie wi thon."
He cryed,
"rin again, the tither airt!"
An awa he gaed again, lik a storm wind, sae that his lugs flew aboot his heid. The hurcheon's wife bade quate in her steid. As the maukin gat til the tap, the hurcheon cryed til him,
"A'm here awreddies!"
The maukin wis reid wud an scraicht,
"rin again, the tither airt!"
"Thon's no owre waur for me." answert the hurcheon, "for ma sakes sae aft as ye want."
Sae the maukin ran anither three an sieventie times, an the hurcheon coud aye keep up wi him. Ilka time the maukin wan up or doun the field, the hurcheon or his wife said,
"A'm here awreddies!"
But the maukin didna end the fower an sieventiet rin, in the mids o the field he fell til the grund, the bluid flew oot his hause an he bade liggin thare. The hurcheon teuk the gowden louis-d'or an his bottle o whisky he'd won, cryed til his wife for tae git oot the furr an baith gaed blythly hame thegither, an gin thay'v no dee'd, thay're aye til the fore.

Sae it happent up on thon muirland. The hurcheon that ran thare wi the maukin, an sin syne nae maukin haes thocht on rinnin a wad agin a muirland hurcheon. But firstlins, this tale lears us , that nae body, e'en gin thay think thirsel sae bien, sall lat thirsel be learnt no tae miscaw a wee-er man, e'en gin he wis a hurcheon. An seicontly, it's wice whan a body's wooin that he taks a wife fae his ain ilk, an ane that leuks juist like hissel. Sae wha's a hurcheon, shoud see til it that his wife's a hurcheon an aw, an sae on.

~Lizzy~

Anent The Fisher An His Wife

Thare wis ance a fisher an his wife that steyed thegither ablo a cowpit chantie aneist the sea. Ilka day the fisher gaed til the sea for tae fish, an he fisht an he fisht. Ance he sat fishin an glowerin intil the clear watter, he sat an he sat. Syne the line gaed tae grund, deep doun, an as he heezed it oot, he heezed oot a muckle rodden fleuk. Syne the rodden fleuk says til him,
"tak tent, fisher, A fleetch at ye for tae lat's leeve, A'm no a real rodden fleuk A'm a bewitchit prince. Hou's it gaun tae help ye gin ye kill me? A wadna taste richt guid tae ye onywey, pit us back intil the watter an lat us soum."
"Crivens!", says the man,
"ye dinna need haiver a hantle sicht, A wad as lief lat a rodden fleuk that can speak gang soum."
Wi thon he pit the rodden fleuk back intil the clear watter. Syne the rodden fleuk gaed tae grund lea'in a lang straik o bluid ahint him. Syne the man gat up an gaed til his wife ablo the chantie.
"Guidman" says the wife,
"Hae ye no catcht onything the day?"
"Na" says the man, "A catcht a rodden fleuk that said he wis a bewitchit prince, sae A lat him gang soum."
"Did ye no wiss for onything?" speirt the wife.
"Na" says the man, "whit shoud A wiss masel?"
"Och!" says the wife, "it's sae awfu, aye haein tae stey ablo a chantie at stews an is sae scunnersome. Ye coud hae wisst us a wee bothy. Gang back an cry on him. Tell him we want a wee bothy, he's boond tae dae thon."
"Och!" says the man, "whit for shoud A gang thare?"
"Ah!" says the wife, "ye catcht him, an syne lat him gang soum, he's boond tae dae thon. Gang straucht thare."
The man didna richt want tae, but he didna want tae fash his wife sae he gaed til the sea. Whan he gat thare the sea wis gey an green an yellae, an no sae clear ony mair. Sae he gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

Syne the rodden fleuk soums up an speirs: "Ah, whit's she efter?"
"Och", says the man, "A catcht ye an nou ma wife says A shoud hae makkit a wiss. She disna want tae stey ablo a chantie ony mair, she wad sair like a bothy."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk, "she awreadies haes hit."
Syne the man gaed back, an his wife wisna sittin ablo a chantie ony mair, but a wee bothy stuid thare, an his wife wis sittin afore the door on a bink. Syne his wife teuk him by the haund an says til him,
"Come awa ben, see, nou thon's a guid bit mair better".
Syne thay gaed awa in, an in the bothy wis a wee entry, an a braw wee stove, an a chaumer whaur ilkane's bed stuid, an a keetchin, an a press. Aw the bestest gear, an aw the bonniest polisht pewther an bress thingmies, an awthing that's aucht thon. Oot the back wis a wee yaird wi chuckies an deuks, an a bit gairden wi green yerbs an fruit.
"See", says the wife, "is thon no braw?"
"Ay", says the man, "an sae it shoud bide, nou we're gaun tae leeve gey an blythesome."
"We'll think on thon", says the wife.
Wi thon thay haed a bit meat an gaed til thair beds.

Sae it gaed on for aicht or fowerteen days. Syne the wife said,
"Tak tent guidman, the bothy's grawn ower hampert, an the yaird an gairden's sae wee. The rodden fleuk coud hae gien us a mair muckle hoose. A want tae stey in a muckle stanern castle. Gang til the rodden fleuk, he shoud gie's a castle."
"Och wife" says the man, "the bothy's aye guid eneuch, whit will we dae in a castle?"
"Och whit!", says the wife, "gang ye thare, the rodden fleuk can aye dae't."
"Nae wife", says the man, "the rodden fleuk first gied us the bothy, A dinna want tae aye be comin back, it micht coud mismey the rodden fleuk."
"Gang onywey", says the wife, "he can dae thon richt guid, an he likes tae. Gang ye thare."
The man didna want tae an his hert wis wechty. He says intil hissel,
"Thon's no richt"
but he gaed thare onywey. Whan he cam til the sea the watter wis fair purpie an daurk blae, an gray an stieve, an no sae green an yellae ony mair, but it wis aye still lown. He gaed an stuid thare, an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, hauf dowie-like, "she wants tae stey in a muckle stanern castle."
"Gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's staundin afore the door."
Syne the man gaed back an thocht he wad be gaun tae the bothy, but whan he gat thare, a muckle stanern palace stuid thare, an his wife haed juist gane on the stair for tae gang in. She teuk him by the haund an says, "come awa ben."
Wi thon he gaed in wi her. In the castle wis a muckle haw wi a seamless merble fluir, an the war sae mony servands that poud the muckle doors open, an the waws wis happit wi braw wawpaper, an in the chaumers wis mony gowden chairs an tables, an creestal chandeleeries hingin fae the camceil, an aw the rooms an chaumers haed cairpets, an meat an the brawmaist wine stuid on the tables, naur garrin thaim brak thegither. Ahint the hoose wis a muckle yaird wi a horsestable an byre, an the best maist horsecairts, an thare wis a muckle byous gairden, wi the bonniest flouers an rerr fruit trees, an a maize, a fou hauf mile lang. The war rae-deer an donies intil't, an awthing that a body coud aye wiss for.
"Na!" says the wife, "is thon no braw?"
"Och ay", says the man, "an sae it shoud bide, nou that we stey in this braw castle, we shoud be contentit."
"We'll think on thon", says the wife, "We shoud sleep."
Wi thon thay gaed til thair beds.

The neist morn the wife wis the first waukent. It wis juist dawin, an fae her bed she seen the braw laund liggin afore her. The man wis aye still oot-raxed, sae she proggit him in the side wi her elbucks an says,
"Staund up guidman an keek ower the windae. See, can we no be the laird ower aw thon laund? Gang til the rodden fleuk, we want tae be the laird."
"Och wife", says the man, "Whit for dae ye want tae be the laird? A dinna want tae be the laird."
"Na", says the wife, "gin ye dinna want tae be the laird A'll be the laird. Gang til the rodden fleuk A want tae be the laird."
"Och wife", says the man, "whit for dae ye want tae be the laird?, A dinna want tae tell him thon."
"Hou no?", says the wife, "gang straucht thare, A maun be the laird."
Syne the man gaed, he wis gey an dowie acause his wife wantit tae be the laird.
"Thon's no richt, it's no richt ava" thocht the man.
He didna want tae gang, but he gaed onywey. Whan he gat til the sea, the sea wis aw black-gray an the watter wis hotterin up fae aneath, an stewed awfu fersell an aw. He gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the see,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter? speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, "she wants tae be the laird."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's awreadies hit."
Syne the man gaed, an as he cam til the palace it haed become mair muckle, wi a heich touer wi braw whigmaleeries on it, an the airmed gaird stuid afore the door an the war sae mony sodgers, an pipes an drums. An as he gaed in the hoose awthing wis wrocht fae pure merble, wi gowd an saitin plaids an muckle gowden tossles. Syne the doors o the muckle haw opent, thare wis the hail coort, an the wife sittin on a muckle throne o gowd an diamont. She haed a muckle gowden croon on, an a sceptre o pure gowd an precious stanes in her haund, an at baith her sides, young lassies stuid in a raw, an aye ane a heid wee-er nor the neist. He gaed an stuid thare an says,
"Och wife, are ye the laird nou?"
"Ay", says the wife, "A'm the laird nou."
Thare he stuid an leukit at her, an efter he'd leukit at her a whilie, he says,
"Och wife, lat it be, nou ye're the laird! Nou we're no gaun tae wiss for ony mair."
"Nae guidman", says the wife, an becam awfu fykerie,
"The time's ower langsome. A canna thole it ony mair. Gang til the rodden fleuk, A'm the laird, nou A maun be the keeng an aw."
"Och wife says the man, "whit for dae ye want tae be the keeng?"
"Guidman", she says, "gang til the rodden fleuk, A want tae be the keeng."
"Och wife", says the man, "he canna mak keengs, A dinna want tae tell the rodden fleuk thon. Thare's juist the ae keeng in the kinrick. The rodden fleuk canna mak ye the keeng. He canna dae siclike."
"Whit!" says the wife, "A'm the laird an ye're ma guidman, are ye gaun tae gang richt nou? Gang straucht thare, gin he can mak a laird he can mak a keeng an aw, A want tae be the keeng, gang straucht thare."
The man buid gang. But as he gaed he becam awfu fleyed, an thocht intil hissel,
"thon winna gang guid. Keeng is ower sneistie, the rodden fleuk will be fauchelt by the end o't."
Wi thon he cam til the sea. The sea wis aye still sair mirk an stieve, an begoud tae hotter up sae as tae thraw up bubbles, an thare blew sic a snell wind ower it that it breinged up, an the man wis richt feart. He gaed an stuid thare an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och rodden fleuk" says the man "ma wife wants tae be the keeng."
"gang back man" says the rodden fleuk "she's hit awreadies."
Syne the man gaed back, an as he gat thare, the hail castle wis happit wi polisht merble an alabastrine feegurs, an gowden whigmaleeries. Afore the door, mairchit the sodgers blawin the pipes an dingin the drums. But in the hoose the lairds an yerls wis gaun aboot lik servands. Thay opent the doors o pure gowd, an as he gaed in, he sees his wife sittin on a throne wrocht fae the ae daud gowd twa mile heich, She haed a muckle gowden croon on, that wis three ell heich, an plaistert wi diamonts an carbuncle stanes. In the ae haund she haed a sceptre an in the tither a glentin orb, an at baith her sides stuid the bairns in twa raws, ane wee-er nor the neist ane, fae the maist muckle ettin that wis twa mile heich, til the smawest droich that wis sae wee as ma pinkie. Afore her stuid sae mony princes an dukes. The man gaed an stuid atween thaim an says,
"Wife, are ye the keeng nou?"
"Ay!" she says, "A'm the keeng."
Syne he gaed an stuid thare an haed a richt guid leuk at her, an efter he'd leukit a whilie he says,
"Och wife, lat it be nou, nou that ye're the keeng."
"Guidman", she says, "whit ye daein staundin thare? A'm the keeng nou, but nou A want tae be the Pape, gang til the rodden fleuk."
"Och wife," says the man, "whit dae ye no want? Ye canna be the Pape, Thare's juist the ae Pape in Christendie, he canna dae thon."
"Guidman", she says, "A want tae be the Pape, gang straucht thare, A maun be the Pape the day."
"Na wife", says the man, "A dinna want tae tell him thon, thon winna gang weel, thon's ower coorse, the rodden fleuk canna mak ye the Pape."
"Guidman whit blethers!" says the wife, "Gin he can mak a keeng, he can mak a Pape an aw. Gang awa thare, A'm the keeng an ye're ma guidman will ye git on wi't?"
He wis sair feart an gaed thare, but he felt gey wammle an grue, an his knees an shanks wis tremmlin. An sic a wind blew ower the laund, an the cloods flew. As the gloamin cam agin the forenicht, the blads wis jachelt aff the trees, an the watter breinged up agin the lip o the sea, an hyne awa he seen ships that wis thrawn in an ill wey, dancin an lowpin in the swaw. The mids o the lift wis aye still a bittie blue, but at the sides it wis gaun richt reid, lik a sair storm. He gaed an stuid thare richt disjaskit an feart, an says:

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the sea,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och", says the man, "She wants tae be the Pape."
"Gang back man, she's hit awreadies", says the rodden fleuk.
Syne he gaed back an whan he gat thare, thare stuid a muckle kirk surroondit wi mony palaces. He oxtert his wey throu the fowk. Inby awthing wis lichtit wi thoosands an thoosands o laumps, an his wife wis cleidit in pure gowd, an sat on an e'en mair muckle throne, an haed three muckle gowden croons on, an aboot her wis sae mony meenisters, an at baith her sides stuid twa raws o lichts, fae the maist muckle, sae muckle an braid as the muckle maist lichthoose, til the wee-est cruisie. An aw the keengs an queens boud doun ontil thair knees afore her an kisst her baffies.
"Wife", says the man, giein her a guid leuk ower, "Are ye the Pape nou?"
"Ay!", she says, "A'm the Pape."
Syne he gaed an stuid an haed a guid leuk, an it wis lik he wis leukin at the bricht sun. Efter he'd leukit a whilie, he says,
"Och wife, lat it be nou, nou that ye're the Pape!"
But she sat sae stieve as a tree, an didna tremmle or muive.
"You", he says, "wife be contentit, nou that ye're the Pape, ye canna be onything mair nou."
"A'll think on thon", says the wife.

Wi thon the baith o thaim gaed til thair beds, but she wisna contentit, an greed wadna lat her sleep, she aye thocht on whit she micht coud become. The man sleepit richt guid an deep, he'd traivelt a guid bit thon day, but the wife coudna faw aff at aw, an threw hersel fae the ae side til the tither the hail nicht, an aye thocht on whit she coud aye still become, an she coudna think on ocht forby. Wi thon the sun hove, an as she seen the dawin reid, she richtit hersel up in her bed an leukit ootby, an as she seen the sun raisin ower the windae,
"Ha", she thocht, "can A no gar the sun an the muin hove an aw?"
"Guidman", she says, an duntit her elbucks intil his kist-banes,
"wauken, an gang til the rodden fleuk, A want tae be lik God awmichtie."
The man wis aye still maistlins asleep, an he gied hissel sic a fricht that he fell oot the bed. He thocht that he haed mishaurd, dichtit his een an says,
"Och wife, whit did ye say?"
"Guidman" she says, "gin A canna gar the sun an the muin hove, an maun watch the sun an muin gaun up A coudna thole it, an wadna hae a quate meenit ony mair gin A coudna gar thaim hove masel."
Syne she glowert at him, awfu ugsome, sae that it gart him grue.
"Gang straucht thare, A want tae be lik God awmichtie.
"Och wife" says the man, an gaed doun ontil his knees afore her, "the rodden fleuk canna dae siclike. He can mak ye the keeng an the Pape, A bid ye, be mensefu, bide the Pape."
Syne she gaed gyte, her hair flew wild-like aboot her heid, she heezed up her bouk an gied him a dunt wi her fit an scraicht,
"A canna thole thon, A canna thole it ony langer, will ye gang thare?"
Syne he hault on his breeks an rin aff lik he wis begowkit. But ootby the storm gaed on, an bluffert siclike that he coud haurdly staund on his feet. The hooses an trees wis dingit doun an the bens dinnelt, an the craigs rowt intil the sea, an the lift wis pick-mirk, an it thunnert an flauchtert, an the sea rowed wi black swaws sae heich as kirk touers an the bens, an upon thaim thay haed white crouns o faem. Syne he scraicht, an he coudna hear his ain wirds,

"Mannie, mannie, Timpee Tee,
Fleukie, fleukie in the see,
Ma lief wife the Iseabail
Winna dae as A her tell."

"Nou, whit's she efter?" speirs the rodden fleuk.
"Och" says the man, "she wants tae be lik God awmichtie."
"Gang back, she's sittin ablo a chantie ance mae."
Thare thay aye still sit, till this verra day.

~Lizzy~

The Brithers Grimm

The war ance a man an a wife that didna hae ony bairns sae lang as thay wis rich, but whan thay becam puir, thay haed a wee laddie. But thay coudna find a Godfaither for him. Syne the man said he wad gang tae anither airt for tae see gin he coud find ane thare. On his gate he cam ower a puir man. The puir man speirt waur he wis gaun. The man said he wantit awa for tae find a Godfaither, but he's puir an nae body wantit tae be Godfaither.
"Och", said the puir man,
"ye're puir an A'm puir, A want tae be the Godfaither; but A'm sae puir A canna gie the bairn ocht. Gang hame an tell the howdie-wife she shoud come til the kirk wi the bairn."
As aw the mengie cam til the kirk, the gaberlunzie wis awreddies ben, he gied the bairn the name Fergus Suithfast. As thay gaed oot the kirk the gaberlunzie said,
"gang hame nou, A canna gie ye ocht an ye shoudna gie's ocht aither."
But he gied the howdie-wife a key an said she shoud gie it til the faither whan she gits hame, he shoud tak tent o't till the bairn's fowerteen year auld, syne the bairn shoud gang up til the muir, thare's a castle that the key fits, an aw whit's inby belangs him.

Whan the bairn wis a weel grawn sieven year auld, he gaed daffin wi the tither laddies, the tane haed gotten mair aff his Godfaither nor the tither. He coudna say muckle an grat an gaed hame an said til his faither,
"Hiv A no gotten ocht aff ma Godfaither?"
"Och ay", said the faither,
"ye wis gien a key. Gin ye see a castle up on the muir, gang til it an open it."
Syne he gaed thare but thare wisna a castle tae be seen or haurd.

Ance mair, efter anither sieven year, whan he wis fowerteen year auld, he gaed back an thare stuid a castle. Whan he opent it thare wis nocht inby but a horse an saidle. The laddie wis sae up tae hie doh that he haed the horse, he sat hissel on it an breishelt til his faither,
"nou that A hae a saidle A want tae stravaig an aw."
Syne he gaed awa, an as he wis on his gate, he seen a scrievin-quill liggin on the grund. At first he wantit tae tak it up, but he thocht til hissel,
"Och, ye shoud lea' it liggin, nae maiter whaur ye come til ye'll aye find a quill whan ye hae want o ane."
As he gaed it cryit efter him,
"Fergus Suithfast tak it wi ye."
He leukit aboot him but didna see onybody, he gaed back again an pickit it up. Efter he haed ridden a whilie, he cam ower a loch. A fish wis liggin on the bank, pechin an pechin for air. Sae he said,
"haud on ma lief fish, A want tae help ye git back intil the loch."
Syne he gruppit the fish by the tail an flang it intil the loch. Syne the fish raxed his heid oot the watter an said,
"nou that ye hae helpit me, A want tae gie ye a penny-whistle, an gin ye drap onything intil the loch, whistle an A will rax it oot tae ye."

He nou rade awa. Syne a man cam til him an speirt whaur he wis gaun.
"Och, til the neist clachan."
"whit's yer name?"
"Fergus Suithfast."
"See thare, we naurhaund hae the same name, A'm cryit Fergus Suithless."
Syne the baith o thaim gaed til the neist clachan, tae the inn. Nou it wis ill that Fergus Suithless aye kent awthing that the tither haed thocht an wantit tae dae. He kent thon throu aw kins o wickit cantrips.

In the inn wis an upricht lassie that haed sic a pure face an cleidit hersel sae bonnie. She wis smitten wi Fergus Suithfast. She wis a lousome body an speirt whaur he wis gaun. Och, he wantit tae stravaig aboot. Syne she said he shoud juist bide thare. Here in the kintra wis a keeng that wad blythe tak on a servand or an ootrider. Still an on he shoud gang intil the service. He answert that he coudna weel gang thare an bode hissel. Syne the lassie said,
"A'll e'en dae't."
An wi thon she gaed straucht til the keeng an telt him she kent a braw servand. That wis awricht an the keeng lat him come til him for tae mak him a servand. But he wad liefer be an ootrider, acause whaur his horse is, he maun be an aw. Sae the keeng taen him on as an ootrider.
Whan Fergus Suithless fund oot aboot thon he said til the lassie,
"Haud on, ye helpit him an no me?"
"Och ", said the lassie, "A want tae help ye an aw."
She thocht: "A maun keep an ee on him acause he's no tae lippen til."
She gaed an stuid afore the keeng an bode him as a servand. The keeng wis weel sert. Mornins whan Fergus Suithless gaed til his maister, the keeng aye yammert,
"och! gin A haed ma lassie wi me."
Fergus Suithless wis aye schemin agin Fergus Suithfast, ance mae as the keeng wis yammerin he said,
"Ye hae the ootrider send him, he coud bring her here, an gin he disna dae it, his heid maun be liggit afore his feet."
Syne the keeng lat Fergus Suithfu be brocht til him an telt him, he haed a lassie an he shoud bring her here, an gin he didna dae it he maun dee.

Fergus Suithfast gaed til his saidle in the stable an grat an yammert.
"Och! Whitna puir craitur A am."
Syne a body cryit oot ahint him,
"Fergus Suithfast whit for are ye greetin?"
He leukit aboot but didna see onybody, an aye yammert on,
"Och ma lief saidleockie, nou A maun lea' ye, nou A maun dee."
It syne cryit again,
"Fergus Suithfast whit for are ye greetin?"
Syne he jaloused that it wis the saidle that speirt at him.
"Are ye daein thon, ma saidleockie, can ye speak?" An said ower: "A maun gang awa an bring the trystit ane back, dae ye no ken hou A micht coud begin?"
Syne the saidleockie answert,
"Gang til the keeng an say, gin he gies ye whit ye maun hae, ye will bring her, gin he gies ye a ship laiden wi flesh an a ship laiden wi breid, than ye can win throu. Thare's muckle etins in the loch, gin ye dinna bring thaim ony flesh thay will rive ye, an thare's muckle birds, that will pick oot the een fae yer heid gin ye dinna hae ony breid for thaim."
Syne the keeng lat aw the fleshers in the airt slauchter an aw the baxters bak, sae that the ships'll be laiden fou. An whan thay wis laiden fou, the saidleockie said til Fergus Suithfast,
"Nou sit upo me an ride abuird the ship, an whan the etins comes say:

'Wheesht, wheesht ma lief etinies,
A hiv on ye thocht,
A hiv brocht ye ocht.'

An whan the birds comes, ance mae ye say:

'Wheesht, wheesht ma lief birdies,
A hae on ye thocht,
A hae brocht ye ocht.'

Than thay winna skaithe ye, an whan ye win til the castle, the etins will help ye. Syne gang intae the castle an tak twa-three etins wi ye. The princess ligs thare sleepin but ye maunna wauken her. The etins maun heeze up her an the bed, an cairy her abuird the ship.

An as thay cam til the keeng, she said she coudna lou him. She maun hae her screeds, thay war left liggin in her castle.

Syne Fergus Suithless wis schemin for tae hae Fergus Suitfast cryit an the keeng telt him he maun fesh the screeds frae the castle, ithergates he maun dee. Ance mae he gaed intil the stable an grat an said,
"Och ma lief saidleockie, Nou A maun gang awa ance mae, hou shoud A dae thon?"
Syne the saidleockie said,
"ye maun laid the ships fou ance mae."
As thay wan til the castle the saidleockie telt him, he shoud gang in, in the princess's bedchaumer, the screeds is on the desk. Syne Fergus Suithfast gaed in an gat a haud o thaim. As thay wis on the loch he lat his quill faw intil the watter, syne the saidleockie said,
"A canna help ye nou."
Syne he mynt the penny-whistle, he begoud tae play, syne the fish cam wi the quill in his mooth an raxed it up til him. Syne he brocht the screeds til the castle waur the waddin wis tae be hauden.

The queen coudna thole the keeng acause he didna hae a neb, but she wis sair lief on Fergus Suithfast. Efter aw the menfowk o the coort wis foregaithert, the queen said she coud dae cantrips, she coud sned a body's heid aff an pit it back on, juist ae body daur come forrit. But naebody wantit tae be the first, Fergus Suithless haed tae acause o Fergus Suithless' schemin. She sned aff his heid an pit it back on again, an it wis healt straucht awa, an leukit lik he haed a reid threid roond his hause. Syne the keeng said til her,
"hen, whaur did ye learn tae dae thon?"
"Ay", she said, "A unnerstaund sic cantrips, shoud A ettle an dae it wi ye an aw?"
"Och aye!" he said.
Syne she sned aff his heid but didna pit it back on again, she lat on she coudna git it back on, acause he wadna sit still. Syne the keeng wis yirdit. She wantit Fergus Suithfast but he aye rade his saidle, an as he sat on it, it said til him, he shoud gang til anither muir that he shawd him, an ride aboot it thrice, an efter he haed duin thon it gaed up on its hint-legs an chynged intae a prince.

~Lizzy~

Whippitie Stourie

A ken ye're fond o clashes aboot fairies, bairns; an a story anent a fairy an the guidwife o Kittlerumpit haes juist come intae ma mynd; but A canna verra weel tell ye nou whauraboots Kittlerumpit ligs. A think hit's somewhaur in amang the debatable grund; Onygate A s' no pertend tae mair nor A ken, lik awbody nou-a-days. A wiss thay wad mynd the ballant we uisst tae lilt lang syne:

"Mony ane sings the girse, the girse,
An mony ane sings the corn;
An mony ane clatters o bauld Robin Huid,
Ne'er kent whaur he wis born."

But hou-sae-iver, aboot Kittlerumpit: the guidman wis a vaigin sort o a body; an he gaed tae a fair ae day, an no only niver cam hame again, but niver mair wis haurd o. Some said he listit, an ither some that the wearifu pressgang cleikit him up, tho he wis claithed wi a wife an a wean forby. Hech-hou! that dulefu pressgang! thay gaed aboot the kintra lik rairin lions, seekin wha thay micht devoor. A mynd weel, ma auldest brither Sandy wis aw but smourt in the meal ark hidin frae thae limmers. Efter thay war gane, we poud him oot frae amang the meal, pechin an greetin, an sae white as ony corp. Ma mither haed tae pyke the meal oot o his mooth wi the shank o a horn spuin.
Aweel, whan the guidman o Kittlerumpit wis gane, the guidwife wis left wi a smaw fendin. Little gear haed she, an a soukin lad bairn. Awbody said thay war sairy for her; but naebody helpit her, whilk's a common case, sirs. Hou-some-iver, the guidwife haed a sou, an that wis her ae consolation; for the sou wis suin tae farrae, an she howpit for a guid bairn-time.
But we aw ken howp's fallacious. Ae day the wife gaes tae the ree for tae fill the sou's troch; an whit dis she find but the sou liggin on her back, gruntin an grainin, an readies tae gie up the ghaist.
A trow this wis a new stound tae the guidwife's hert; sae she sat doun on the knockin-stane, wi her bairn on her knee, an grat sairer nor iver she did for the loss o her ain guidman.
Nou A premeese that the cot-hoose o Kittlerumpit wis biggit on a brae, wi a fir-wid ahint hit, o whilk ye mey hear mair or lang gae. Sae the guidwife, whan she wis dichtin her een, chances tae leuk doun the brae, an whit dis she see but an auld wumman, awmaist lik a leddy, comin slaw up the gate. She wis buskit in green, an aw but a white cutty apron, an a black velvet huid, an a steeple crount beaver hat on her heid: She haed a lang walkin-staff, sae lang as hersel, in her haund - the sort o staff that auld men an auld weemen helpit thaimsels wi lang syne; A see nae sic staffs nou, sirs.
Aweel, whan the guidwife seen the green gentlewumman naur her, she rase an made curchy; an; "Mem," quo she, greetin, "A'm ane o the maist misfortunate weemen alive."
"A dinna wiss tae hear pipers' news an fiddlers' tales, guid-wife," quo the green wumman. "A ken ye'v tint your guidman - we haed waur losses at the Shirra Muir; an A ken that your sou's unco seek. Nou, whit will ye gie me gin A cure her?"
"onything your leddyship's mem likes," quo the witless guidwife, niver jalousin wha she haed tae deal wi. "Lat's weet thoums an that bargain," quo the green wumman: sae thoums wis weetit, A s' warrant ye; an intae the ree mem mairches.
She leuks at the sou wi a lang glower, an syne begoud tae mutter in til hersel whit the guidwife coudna weel lift; but she said hit soondit lik;

"Pitter patter,
Haly watter."

Syne she teuk oot her pooch a wee bottle, wi something lik ile in't, an rubs the sou wi't abuin the snoot, ahint the lugs, an on the tip o the tail. " Git up, beast," quo the green wumman. Nae suiner said nor duin - up bangs the sou wi a grunt, an awa tae her troch for her brakfast.
The guidwife o Kittlerumpit wis a blythe guidwife nou, an wad she hae kisst the verra hem o the green mem's goun-tail, but she wadna lat her. "A'm no sae fond o fashions," quo she; "but nou that A hae richtit your seek beast, lat us end oor siccar bargain. Ye'll no find me an unreisonable greedy body - A like aye tae dae a guid turn for a smaw rewaird - aw A ax, an will hae, is that lad bairn in your bosie."
The guidwife o Kittlerumpit, wha nou kent her customer, gied a skirl lik a stickit gryce. The green wumman wis a fairy, nae dout; sae she prays an greets, an begs, an flytes; but aw wadna dae. "Ye mey spare your din, "quo the fairy, "skirlin lik A wis sae deif as a door nail; but this A'll lat ye tae wit - A canna, by the law we leeve on, tak your bairn til the thrid day efter this day; an no than, gin ye can tell me ma richt name." Sae mem gaes awa roond the swine's ree end, an the guidwife faws doun in a swarf ahint the knockin-stane.
Aweel, the guidwife o the Kittlerumpit coud sleep nane that nicht for greetin, an aw the neist day the same, cuddlin her bairn till she naur squeezed oot its braith; but the seicont day she thinks on takkin a walk in the wid A telt ye o; an sae, wi the bairn in her airms, she sets oot, an gaes faur in amang the trees, whaur wis an auld quarrel-heuch, growen ower wi girse, an a bonny spring wall in the mids o't. Afore she cam verra ney, she hears the birrin o a lint-wheel, an a vyce liltin a sang; sae the wife creeps quatelike amang the busses, an keeks ower the brou o the quarrel-heuch, an whit dis she see but the green fairy kempin at her wheel, an singin lik ony precentor:

"Little kens oor guid dame at hame
That Whippitie Stourie is ma name!"

"Ah, ha!" thinks the wife, "A'v gotten the dorbie's wird at last; the deil gie thaim joy that telt it!" Sae she gaed hame faur lichter nor she cam oot, as ye mey weel jalouse, lauchin lik a madcaup wi the thocht o begunkin the auld green fairy.
Aweel, ye maun ken that this guidwife wis a joco wumman, an aye canty whan her hert wisna unco sair owerlaiden. Sae she thinks tae hae some sport wi the fairy; an at the appyntit time she pits the bairn ahint the knockin-stane, an sits doun on't hersel. Syne she pous her mutch ajee ower her left lug, creuks her mou on the tither side, as gin she war greetin, an a filthy face she made, ye mey be shuir. she haedna lang tae wait, for up the brae munts the green fairy, naither lame nor lazy; an lang or she gat naur the knockin-stane, she skirls oot: "Guidwife o Kittlerumpit, ye ken weel whit I come for - staund an deleever!" The wife pertends tae greet sairer than afore, an wrings her nieves, an faws on her knees, wi: "Och, sweet mem, mistress, spare ma ae bairn, an tak the weary sou!"
"The deil tak the sou for ma share," quo the fairy; "A comena here for swine's flesh. Dinna be contermacious, hizzie, but gie's the get instant!"
"Ochone, dear leddy mines," quo the greetin guidwife; "forbear ma puir bairn, an tak masel!"
"The deil's in the daft jaud," quo the fairy, leukin lik the faur-end o a fiddle; "A'll wad she's clean dementit. Wha in aw the yirdly warld, wi hauf an ee in thair heid, wad iver meddle wi the likes o thee?"
A trowe this set up the wife o Kittlerumpit's birse; for tho she haed twa blearit een, an a lang reid neb forby, she thocht hersel sae bonny as the best o thaim. Sae she bangs aff her knees, sets up her mutch-croun, an wi her twa haunds fauldit afore her, she maks a curchie doun tae the grund, an, "In truith, fair mem," quo she " A micht hae haed the wit tae ken that the likes o me isna fit tae tie the warst shae-strings o the heich an mauchtie princess, Whippitie Stourie!" Gin a fluff o gunpouther haed come oot the grund, it coudna hae gart the fairy lowp heicher nor she did; syne doun she cam again, dump on her shae-heels, an whirlin roond, she ran doun the brae, scraichin for rage, lik a houlet chased wi the witches.
The guidwife o Kittlerumpit leuch till she wis like tae rive; syne she taks up her bairn, an gaes intae her hoose, singin til't aw the gate:

"Aw gou an a gitty, ma bonny wee tyke,
Ye s' nou hae your fower-oories;
Sin we'v gien Nick a bane tae pyke,
Wi his wheels an his Whippitie Stouries."

~Lizzy~

Rashie-Coat

Rashie-coat wis a keeng's dochter, an her faither wantit her tae be mairit; but she didna like the man. Her faither said she buid tak him; an she didna ken whit tae dae. Sae she gaed awa tae the hen-wife, tae speir whit she shoud dae. An the hen-wife said: "Say ye winna tak him unless thay gie ye a coat o the beaten gowd." Weel, thay gied her a coat o the beaten gowd; but she didna want tae tak him for aw that. Sae she gaed tae the hen-wife again, an the hen-wife said: "Say ye winna tak him unless thay gie ye a coat made o the feathers o aw the birds o the air." Sae the keeng sent a man wi a great heap o corn; an the man cried tae aw the birds o the air: "Ilka bird tak up a corn an pit doun a feather; an thay teuk aw the feathers an made coats o thaim, an gied it tae Rashie-coat; but she didna want tae tak him for aw that. Weel, she gaed tae the hen-wife again, an speirt whit she shoud dae; an the hen-wife said "Say ye winna tak him unless thay gie ye a coat o rashes an a pair o slippers." Weel thay gied her a coat o rashes an a pair o slippers; but she didna want tae tak him for aw that. Sae she gaed tae the hen-wife again, an the hen wife said she coudna help her ony mair.
Weel, she left her faither's hoose, an gaed faur, an faur an faurer nor A can tell; an she cam tae a keeng's hoose an she gaed til't. An thay speirt at her whit she wis seekin, an she said she wis seekin service; an thay gied her service, an set her in tae the keetchin for tae wash the dishes, an tak oot the ess, an aw that. An whan the Sawbath-day cam, thay aw gaed til the kirk, an left her at hame for tae ceuk the denner. An the fairy telt her tae gang, an she wad ceuk the denner for her. An she said:

"Ae peat gar anither peat burn,
Ae spit gar anither spit turn,
Ae pat gar anither pat play,
Lat Rashie-coat gang til the kirk the day."

Sae Rashie-coat pit on her coat o the beaten gowd, an gaed awa tae the kirk. An the keeng's son fell in love wi her; but she cam hame afore the kirk skailt, an he coudna find oot wha she wis. An whan she cam hame she fund the denner ceukit, an naebody kent she haed been oot.
Weel, the neist Sawbath-day, the fairy cam again, an telt her tae pit on the coat o feathers o aw the birds o the air, an gang til the kirk, an she wad ceuk the denner for her. Weel, she pit on the coat o feathers, an gaed til the kirk. An she cam oot afore it skailt; an whan the keeng's son seen her gaun oot, he gaed oot an aw; but he coudna find oot wha she wis. An she gat hame, an teuk aff the coat o feathers, an fund the denner ceukit, an naebody kent she haed been oot.
An the neist Sawbath-day, the fairy cam til her again, an telt her tae pit on the coat o rashes an the pair o slippers, an gang til the kirk again. Aweel, she did it aw; an this time the keeng's son sat naur the door, an whan he seen Rashie-coat slippin oot afore the kirk skailt , he slippit oot an aw an gruppit her. An she gat awa frae him, an ran hame; but she tint ane o her slippers, an he teuk it up. An he gart cry throu aw the kintra, that onybody that coud git the slipper on, he wad mairy thaim. Sae aw the leddies o the coort ettelt tae git the slipper on, an hit wadna fit nane o thaim. An the auld hen-wife cam an fuish her dochter for tae ettle an git it on, an she nippit her fit an she clippit her fit, an gat it on thon wey. Sae the keeng's son wis gaun tae mairy her. An he wis taen her awa for tae mairy her, ridin on a horse, an her ahint him; an thay cam tae a wid, an thare wis a bird sittin on a tree, an as thay gaed by, the bird said:

"Nippit fit an clippit fit
Ahint the keeng's son rides;
But bonny fit an pretty fit
Ahint the caudron hides."

An whan the keeng's son haurd this, he flang aff the hen-wife's dochter, an cam hame again, an leukit ahint the caudron, an thare he fund Rashie-coat greetin for her slipper. An he tried her fit wi the slipper, an it gaed on fine. Sae he mairit her.

An thay leeved happy an happy,
An niver drank oot o a dry cappie.

~Lizzy~

Wee Willie Winkie

Wee Willie Winkie rins throu the toun,
Up the stair an doun the stair in his nichtgoun,
Tirlin at the windae, cryin at the lock,
Is aw the bairns in thair beds? it's past aicht o clock!

Wee Willie Winkie, are ye comin ben?
The cat's singin gray thrums tae the sleepin hen,
The dug's speldert on the fluir an disna gie a cheep,
But here's a waukrif laddie that winna faw asleep.

Onything but sleep, ye rogue, glowerin like the muin,
Rattlin in an airn joug wi an airn spuin,
Rummlin-tummlin roond aboot, crawin like a cock,
Skirlin like A kenna whit, waukenin sleepin fowk.

Hey, Willie Winkie, the wean's in a creel,
Wammlin aff a body's knee like a verra eel,
Ruggin at the cat's lug an raivelin aw her thrums,
Hey, Willie Winkie, see here he comes!

~Lizzy~

Menzies

A canty wee lassie cried Menzies
Speirt, "Dae ye ken whit this thenzies?"
Her Maw, wi a gasp,
Reponed, "It's a wasp!"
An ye'r haudin the end whaur the stenzies!

~Lizzy~

Listen Tae The Teacher

He's five year auld, he's aff tae the schuil
Fermer's bairn wi a pincil an a rule
His teacher scoffs whan he says "hoose"
" The word is house, you silly little goose"
He tells his ma whan he gits back
He saw a "mouse" in an auld cairt track
His faither lauchs fae the stackyaird dyke
"Yon's a MOOSE ye daft wee tyke"

Owerwird:

Listen tae the teacher, dinna say dinna
Listen tae the teacher, dinna say hoose
Listen tae the teacher, ye canna say maunna
Listen tae the teacher, ye maunna say moose

He bit his lip an shut his mooth
Whit ane coud he trust for truith
He teuk his burden ower the hill
Tae auld gray Geordy o the mill
"An did thay mock thoo for thee tongue
Wi thaim sae auld an ye sae young?
Thay warna makkin a fuil o ye
Thay war makkin a fuil o thaimsels ye see"

Say hoose tae the faither, house tae the teacher
Moose tae the fermer, mouse tae the preacher
Whan yer young it's weel for you
Tae "do in Rome as Romans do"
But whan ye growe an ye are auld
Ye needna dae as ye are tauld
Dinna trim yer tongue tae suit yon dame
That scorns the langage o her hame

Than teacher thocht that he wis fine
He keepit in stap, he steyed in line
Faither says that he wis grand
He spak his ain tongue like a man
An whan he growed an made his chyce
He chose his Scots, his native vyce
An A chairge ye tae dae likewice
Spurn yon puir misguidit cries.

~Lizzy~

Beasties

Clock-leddy, clock-leddy
flee awa hame,
Your lum's in a lowe,
Your bairns in a flame;
Reid-spottit jaiket,
An polisht black ee,
laund on ma luif an bring
Siller tae me!

Ettercap, ettercap,
Spinnin your threid,
Midges for denner, an
Flees for your breid;
Sic a mishanter
Befell a bluebottle,
Silk roond his feet-
Your haund at his throttle!

Mowdiewarp, mowdiewarp,
Howkin an scartin,
Tweed winna please ye,
Nor yit the braw tartan,
Silk winna suit ye,
Naither will cotton,
Naething, ma laird, but the
velvet ye'v gotten.

~Lizzy~

Address Tae A Haggis

Fair faw your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o the Puddin-race!
Abuin thaim aw ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wirthy o a grace
As lang's ma airm.

The grainin trencher thare ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help tae mend a mill
In time o need,
While throu your pores the dews distils
Like lammer bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dicht,
An cut you up wi ready slicht,
Trenchin your gushin entrails bricht
Like ony ditch;
An than, O whit a glorious sicht,
Wairm-reekin, rich!

Than, horn for horn thay streetch an strive,
Deil tak the hintmaist, on thay drive,
Till aw thair weel-swallt kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Than auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Is thare that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sou,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi perfit scunner,
Leuks doun wi sneerin, scornfu view
On sic a denner?

Puir deevil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a withert rash,
His spinnle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Throu bluidy fluid or field tae dash,
O hou unfit!

But merk the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The tremmlin earth resoonds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blad,
He'll mak it whistle;
An legs, an airms, an heids will sned,
Like taps o thristle.

Ye Pouers that maks mankind your care,
An dish thaim oot thair bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinkin ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if you wiss her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

~Lizzy~

Auld Lang Syne

Shoud auld acquentance be forgot,
An niver brocht tae mynd?
Shoud auld acquentance be forgot,
An auld lang syne!

Owerwird:

For auld lang syne, ma dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o kyndness yit,
For auld lang syne.

An shuirly ye'll be your pint stowp!
An shuirly A'll be mine!
An we'll tak a cup o kyndness yit,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae rin aboot the braes,
An pou'd the gowans fine;
But we'v wandert mony a weary fit
Sin auld lang syne.

We twa hae paidelt in the burn,
Frae mornin sun till dine;
But seas atween us braid haes raired
Sin auld lang syne.

An thare's a haund, ma trusty fere!
An gie's a haund o thine!
An we'll tak a richt guid-willy waucht,
For auld lang syne.

~Lizzy~

Guid Ale Keeps The Hert Abuin

Owerwird:

O guid ale comes an guid ale gaes;
Guid ale gars me sell ma hose,
Sell ma hose, an pawn ma shuin -
Guid ale keeps ma hert abuin!

A HAED sax owsen in a pleuch,
An thay drew aw weel eneuch:
A selt thaim aw juist ane by ane -

Guid ale hauds me bare an busy,
Gars me moup wi the servand hizzie,
Staund in the stuil whan A hae duin -

~Lizzy~

Address Tae The Tuithache

Ma curse upon your venomed stang,
That shuits ma torturt goums alang,
An throu ma lugs gies sic a twang,
Wi gnawin vengeance,
Teirin ma nerves wi bitter pang,
Like rackin ingines!

Whan fiver burn, or agues freeze us,
Rheumatics gnaws, or colics squeeze us,
Oor neibour's seempathy can ease us,
Wi peetyin mane;
But thee - thoo hell o aw diseases -
Thay mock oor grain.

Aw doun ma beard the slavers trickles,
A thraw the wee stuils ower the muckle,
While roond the fire the giglets keckles,
Tae see me lowp,
An ravin mad, I wiss a heckle
War in thair dowp!

In aw the numerous human dules,
Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stuils,
Or wirthy freends raked in the mouls, -
Sad sicht tae see!
The tricks o knaves, or fash o fuils,
Thoo beirs the gree!

Whaur e'er that place be priests caws hell,
Whaur aw the tones o meesery yells,
An ranket plagues thair nummers tells,
In dreidfu raw,
Thoo, TUITHACHE, shuirly beirs the bell,
Amang thaim aw!

Thoo grim, mischief-makkin chiel,
That gars the notes o discord squeel,
Till daft mankynd aft dance a reel
In gore, a shae-thick,
Gie's aw the faes o SCOTLAND'S weel
A towmond's tuithache!

~Lizzy~

The Kintra Lass

In simmer, whan the hay wis mawn
An corn waved green in ilka field,
While claver bluims white ower the lea
An roses blaw in ilka bield!
Blythe Bessie in the milkin shiel,
Says - A'll be wad, come o't whit will:
Oot spake a dame in wrinkelt eild -
O guid advisement comes nae ill.

It's ye hae wooers ane,
An lassie, ye're but young, ye ken,
Than wait a wee, an canny wale
A routhy but, a routhy ben;
Thare's Johnie o the Busky-glen,
Fou is his barn, fou is his byre;
Tak this frae me, ma bonny hen,
It's plenty beets the lover's fire.

For Johnie o the Busky-glen,
I didna care a single flee;
He lous sae weel his craps an kye,
He haes nae love tae spare for me;
But blythe's the blink o Robie's ee,
An weel A wat he lous me dear:
Ae blink o him wadna gie
For Busky-glen an aw his gear.

O thochtless lassie, life's a fecht;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fou-haundit is fechtin best,
A hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend an some will spare,
An willfu fowk maun hae thair will;
Syne as ye brew, ma maiden fair,
Keep mynd that ye maun drink the yill

O gear will buy me rigs o laund,
An gear will buy me sheep an kye;
But the tender hert o leesome love,
The gowd an siller canna buy;
We mey be puir - Robie an A -
Licht is the burden love lays on;
Content an love brings pace an joy
Whit mair hae Queens upon a throne?

~Lizzy~

Comin Throu The Rye

Owerwird:

O Jenny's aw weet puir body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draigelt aw her petticoatie,
Comin throu the rye.

Gin a body meet a body
Comin throu the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Comin throu the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warld ken?

~Lizzy~

The Daft Days

Nou mirk Dizember's dowie face
Glowers ower the rigs wi soor grimace,
While, throu his meenimum o space,
The bleer-ee'd sun
Wi blinkin licht an stealin pace,
His race dis rin.

Frae nakit groves nae birdie sings,
Tae shepherd's pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae oderous flavour brings
Frae Borean cave,
An dwynin naitur droops her wings,
Wi veesage grave.

Mankynd but scanty pleisur glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan Winter, mids his nippin train,
Wi frozen spear,
Sends drift ower aw his bleak domain,
An guides the weir.

Auld Reekie! thoo're the cantie hole,
A bield for mony cauldrif sauls,
Thare snugly at thine ingle lolls,
Baith wairm an couth;
While roond thay gar the bicker rolls
Tae weet thair mooths.

Whan merry Yuil-day comes, A trowe
You'll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Smaw are oor cares, oor stamacks fou
O gustie gear,
An kickshaws, streengers tae oor view,
Sin Fern-year.

Ye brewster wifes, nou busk ye braw,
An fling your sorraes faur awa;
Than come an gie's the tither blaw
O reamin ale,
Mair precious than the wall o Spa,
Oor herts tae heal.

Than, tho at odds wi aw the warld,
Amang oorsels we'll niver quarrel;
Tho Discord gie's a cankert snarl
Tae spyle oor glee,
As lang's thare's pith intae the baurel
We'll drink an gree.

Fiddlers, your pins in temper fix,
An roset weel your fiddle-sticks,
But bainish vile Italian tricks
Frae oot your quorum,
Nor fortes wi pianaes mix,
Gie's Tulloch Gorum.

For nocht can cheer the hert sae weel
As can a cantie Hieland reel,
It even vivifee's the heel
Tae skip an dance:
Lifeless is he that canna feel
Its influence.

Lat mirth aboond, lat social cheer
Invest the dawin o the year;
Lat blithesome innocence appear
Tae croun oor joy,
Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer
Oor bliss destroy.

An thoo, great god o Aqua Veetæ!
That sways the empire o this ceety,
Whan fou we're sometimes capernoitie,
Be thoo prepared
Tae hedge us frae that black banditti,
The Ceety-Gaird.

~Lizzy~

Hallae-Fair

At Hallaemas, whan nichts growes lang,
An starnies shines fou clear,
Whan fowk, the nippin cauld tae bang,
Thair winter hap-wairms weir,
Naur Edinburgh a fair thare hauds,
A wat thare's nane that's name is,
For strappin dames an sturdy lads,
An caup an stoup, mair famous
Than it that day.

Upo the tap o ilka lum
The sun began tae keek,
An bad the trig made maidens come
A sichtly jo tae seek
At Hallae-fair, whaur brewsters rare
Keep guid ale on the gantries,
An dinna scrimp ye o a skare
O kebbucks frae thair pantries,
Fou saut that day.

Here kintra John in bunnet blue,
An eik his sunday claes on,
Rins efter Meg wi rokelay new,
An sappie kisses lays on;
She'll tauntin say, ye silly cuif!
Be o your gab mair spairin;
He'll tak the hint, an creash her luif
Wi whit will buy her fairin,
Tae chowe that day.

Here chapman billies taks thair staund,
An shaws thair bonnie wallies;
Wow, but thay lie fou gleg aff haund
Tae trick the silly fallaes:
Heh, Sirs! whit cairds an tinklers comes,
An ne'er-dae-weel horse-cowpers,
An spae-wifes fenyiein tae be dumm,
Wi aw siclike landlowpers,
Tae thrive that day.

Here Sawny cries, frae Aiberdeen;
'Come ye tae me fa needs:
The brawest shanks that e'er war seen
A'll sell ye cheap an gweed.
A wyte thay are as protty hose
As comes fae weyr or leem:
Here tak a rug, an shaw's your pose:
Forseeth, ma ain's but teem
An licht this day.'

Ye wifes, as ye gang throu the fair,
mak your bargains huily!
O aw thir wylie louns bewaur,
Or fegs thay will ye spulyie.
For fernyear Meg Thamson gat,
Frae thir mischievous villains,
A scawt bit o a penny note,
That lost a score o shillins
Tae her that day.

The dinlin drums alairm oor ears,
The sergeant screichs fou lood,
'Aw gentlemen an volunteers
That wiss your kintra guid,
Come here tae me, an A shall gie
Twa guineas an a croun,
A bowl o punch, that like the sea
Will soum a lang dragoon
Wi ease this day.'

Athoot the cuissers prance an nicker,
An ower the ley-rig scud;
In tents the carles bends the bicker,
An rant an rair like wud.
Than thare's sic yallochin an din,
Wi wifes an weans gablin,
That ane micht trow thay war a-kin
Tae aw the tongues at Babylon,
Confuised that day.

Whan Phoebus ligs in Thetis laup,
Auld Reekie gies thaim shelter,
Whaur cadgily thay kiss the caup,
An caw't roond helter-skelter.
Jock Bell gaed furth tae play his freaks,
Great cause he haed tae rue it,
For frae a stark Lochaber aix
He gat a clamihewit
Fou sair that nicht.

'Ohon!' quo he, 'A'd raither be
By swuird or bagnet stickit,
Than hae ma croun or body wi
Sic deidly wappins nickit.'
Wi that he gat anither straik
Mair wechty than afore,
That gart his feckless body ache,
An spew the reekin gore,
Fou reid that nicht.

He pechin on the causey lay,
O kicks an cuffs weel sert;
A Hieland aith the sergeant gae,
'She maun pe see oor gaird.'
Oot spak the warlike corporal,
'Pring in ta drunken groat,
For that neist day.

Guid fowks, as ye come frae the fair,
Bide yont frae this black squad;
Thare's nae sic savages elsewhaur
Alloud tae weir cockaud.
Than the strang lions's hungry maw,
Or tusk o Roussaen beir,
Frae thair wanruly fellin paw
Mair cause ye hae tae fear
Your daith that day.

A wee soop drink dis unco weel
Tae haud the hert abuin;
It's guid as lang's a canny chiel
Can staund steeve in his shuin.
But gin a birkie's ower weel sert,
It gars him aften stammer
Tae ploys that brings him tae the gaird,
An eik the Cooncil-chaumer,
Wi shame that day.

~Lizzy~

Johnnie Cope

The oreeginal wis written by Adam Skirving but haes sin syne been eikit tae an chynged by mony sindry fowk.

Sir John Cope rade the nor' richt faur,
Yit ne'er a rebel he cam naur,
Till he laundit at Dunbaur,
Richt early in the mornin

Owerwird:

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye wauken yit,
Or are ye sleepin A wad wit;
haste ye yit up for the drums dae beat,
fey Cope raise in the mornin.

He wrat a challenge frae Dunbaur,
Come an fecht me Chairlie gin ye daur;
Gin it binna be the chance o war
A'll gie ye a merry mornin.

Whan Chairlie leukit the letter upo'
He drew his swuird the scabbart frae -
Sae hieven restore tae me ma ain,
A'll meet ye, Cope, in the mornin.

Cope swuir wi mony a bluidy wird
That he wad fecht thaim gun an swuird,
But he fled frae his nest lik a frichtent bird,
An Johnnie he teuk the weeng in the mornin.

But whan he seen the hieland lads
Wi tartan trews an white cockauds,
Wi swuirds an guns an rungs an gauds,
Johnnie, he teuk weeng in the mornin.

Sir Johnnie intae Berwick rade,
Juist as the deil haed been his guide;
Giein him the warld he wadna steyed
Tae fochten the boys in the mornin.

Says Laird Mark Car, ye arna blate,
Tae bring us news o yer ain defeat;
A think ye deser the back o the gate,
Git oot ma sicht this mornin.

~Lizzy~

The Twa Corbies

In ahint yon auld fail dyke,
A wit thare ligs a new slain knicht;
An naebody kens that he ligs thare,
But his hawk, his hoond an leddy fair.

His hoond is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fesh the wild-foul hame,
His leddy's taen anither mate,
Sae we mey mak oor denner sweet.

Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
An A'll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
we'll theek oor nest whan it growes bare.

Mony ane for him maks mane,
But nane sall ken whaur he is gane;
Ower his white banes, whan thay are bare,
The wind sall blaw for ivermair.

~Lizzy~

The Gaugers

Last nicht A dreamt a dreamy dream
A dreamt it ance afore
A dreamt that oor guidman wis chased
By the gaugers frae Drummore

Nou Willie rade his auld gray meir
He rade till the brak o day
Cryin 'lassie, lassie, gaird yersel'
For thare's gaugers on the wey

The gaugers cam intae the hoose
Thay gaed richt up the stair
Thay gaed intae the faither's room
An thay fund the bottles thare

Thay poud the blankets frae the bed
Thay poud thaim on the fluir
till Maggie she cam rinnin ben
Sayin 'ye buggers heid for the door'

The gaugers thay hae taen the road
that leads back tae Drummore
Whan Sawny gat the bottles oot
sayin 'mak a baurel mair'

Nou Willie Callum made the lum
He made it stoot an strang
That it wad staund the weir an teir
An mak the dooble strang

sae come aw ye Kincardine lads
An come awa wi me
An we'll awa tae Sawny's still
An drink the baurley-bree.

~Lizzy~

Burnie Bouzle

Gin ye'll mairy me lass, at the kirk o Burnie Bouzle
till the day ye dee lassie, ye will ne'er repent it
Ye will weir whan ye are wad, a kirtle an a Hieland plaid
An sleep upon a heather bed, sae couthy an sae canty

Ye will gang sae braw, lassie, tae the kirk o Burnie Bouzle
Little brogues an aw, lassie, vou, but you'll be canty
Yer wee bit tocher is but smaw, but hodden gray will weir for aw
A'll sauf ma siller for tae mak ye braw an ye will ne'er repent it

We'll hae bonny bairns an aw, some lassies fair an laddies braw
Juist like thair mither ane an aw, an yer faither he's consentit
A'll hunt the otter an the broch, the hart, the hare an heather cock
A'll pou ye limpets frae the rock, tae mak ye dishes denty.

~Lizzy~

A Keech In The Creel

A fair maid she gaed up the street, some white fish for tae buy
An a bonny clerk's fell in love wi her, an he's follaed her by an by

O whaur leeve ye ma bonnie lass, a pray ye tell me true
An tho the nicht be e'er sae mirk, A will come an veesit you

Ma faither locks the door at nicht, ma mither keeps the key
An tho ye warna sic a rovin lad, ye canna win in tae me

But the clerk he haed a young brither, an a wylie wicht wis he
An he's made a lang ledder, wi thrittie staps an three

He's made a cleek bit an creel, an the creel's pit on a preen
An he's awa tae the chimley tap, an he's lattin the bonny clerk in

Nou the auld wife coudna sleep thon nicht, tho late wis the oor
A'll lay ma life, says the silly auld wife, thare's a man in oor dochter's bouer

Raise up, raise up ma guidman, an see gin this be true
Gin ye're wantin raisin, raise yersel, A wiss the auld chiel haed you

Than up she raise an doun she gaes, an in tae the creel she flew
An the clerk's brither at the chimley tap, he fund that the creel wis fou

He's hault her up, he's hault her doun, he's gien her a richt doun-faw
Till ilka rib in the auld wife's side, played knick-knack on the waw

Och help me nou ma auld guidman, och help me nou ma dou
For him that ye wisst me wi this nicht, A think he's gotten me nou

Gin auld Nick haes catched ye nou, A wiss he'll haud ye fest
For atween ye an yer ae dochter, a niver gat ony rest.

~Lizzy~

A Maid Gaed Tae The Mill

A maid gaed tae the mill by nicht / hey, hey sae wanton
A maid gaed tae the mill by nicht / hey, hey sae wanton she
She swuire by aw the stars sae bricht
That she wad git her corn grund / she wad git her corn grund
Mill an mouter free

Than ooten cam the miller's lad
He swuire he'd dae the best he can
For tae git her corn grund

He pit his airms aboot her neck
He laid her doun upon a seck
An thare she gat her corn grund

Whan three lang months wis past an gane
this lassie she grew pale an wan
for gittin her corn grund

Whan nine lang months wis past an gane
this lassie haed a braw young son
For gittin aw her corn grund

Her mither baud her cast it oot
It wis the miller's stourie cloot
For gittin her corn grund

Her faither baud her keep it in
It wis the chief o aw her kin
For gittin aw her corn grund

Whan ither maids gaed oot tae play
She grat an saucht an wadna say
acause she gat he corn grund.

~Lizzy~

Tae The Beggin

O aw the treds that A dae ken
The beggin is the best
For whan a beggar's weary
He can aye sit doun an rest

Owerwird:

Tae the beggin a will gae, will gae
Tae the beggin A will gae (2x)

Afore that A dae gang awa
A'll lat ma beard growe lang
An for ma nails A winna pare
For beggars weirs thaim lang

Syne A'll tae a cobbler
An gar him mak ma shuin
Wi twa-three inches roond-aboot
An clootit weel abuin

An A'll gang tae a hatter
an gar him mak a hat
Wi twa-three inches roond-aboot
Aw sheenin ower wi fat

Gin thare's a waddin in the toun
A'll airt me tae be thare
An poor ma kyndest benisons
Upon the happy pair

An some will gie me beef an breid
An some will gie me cheese
An roond-aboot thae mairiage fowk
A'll gaither the bawbees

Gin beggin be sae guid a tred as
A maun howp mey It's time
A wis oot o here
An haudin doun the brae.

~Lizzy~

The Wark O The Weavers

We're aw met thegither here tae sit an tae crack
wi oor glesses in oor haunds an oor wark upon oor back
thare's no a tred amang thaim coud naither mend nor mak
Gin it wisna for the wark o the weavers

Owerwird:

Gin it wisna for the weavers whit wad thay dae?
thay wadna hae the claes made o oo
Thay wadna hae a coat, na, naither black nor blue
Gin it wisna for the wark o the weavers

Thare's some fowk's independent o ither tredsmen's wark
For weemen needs nae barber an dykers needs nae clerk
but thare's no ane o thaim but needs a coat an sark
Thay aw need the wark o the weavers

Oor sodgers an oor sailors, o't, we mak thaim aw bauld
but gin thay haed nae claes faith thay coudna fecht for cauld
The heich an the laich, the rich an the puir, awbody young an auld
Thay aw need the wark o the weavers

Thare's smiths an thare's wrichts an mason chiels an aw
Thare's doctors an meenisters an thaim that leeves by law
An aw oor freends oot ower the sea in Sooth Americae
Thay aw need the wark o the weavers

The weavin is sae guid a tred as niver yit can fail
Sae lang as we need claith tae keep anither hail
sae lat us aw be merry ower a bicker o guid ale
An drink tae the heal o the weavers.

~Lizzy~