Musical garland/Maggy Lauther

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Maggy Lauther.

Wha wou'dna be in love
Wi‘ bonny Maggy Lauther,
A piper met her gaun through Fife,
He spier'd what was't they ca‘d her;
Right scornfully she answered him,
Begone you hallan shaker,
Jog on your gate you blather-skate.
My name is Maggy Lauther.

Maggy quo' he now by my bags,
I'm fidging fain to see thee,
Sit down by me my bonny bird,
Indeed I winna steer thee;
For I'm a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Ranter,
The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.

Piper quo' Meg hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone’s in order,
Gif ye be Rob we've heard of you,
Live ye upo' the border.
The kintra a‘ baith far and near,
Has heard of Rob the Ranter,
I'll shake my foot wi‘ right good will,
Gin ye blaw up your chanter.

Then to his bags he flew wi‘ speed'
And round his drone he twisted,
Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.
Well done quo' he,—play up quo' she,
We‘ll bob‘d quo' Rob the Ranter,
‘Tis worth my while to play quo he,
When I get sic a dancer.

Well hae you play'd your part quo' Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimson,
There's nane in Scotland play like you,
Since we lost Habbie Simson,
I've lived in Fife baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter,
When ye came there to Amst'er fair,
Speer ye for Maggy Lauther.

Then Rob he rous'd and took the road,
And round all Fife he ranted,
And play'd a spring thro’ Siler-dykes,
As merry Meg he wanted:
⟨And⟩ as he enter'd Amst‘er town,
His drone it sounded louder,
⟨His⟩ bags he blew till the chanter flew,
No pipes were ever prouder.

⟨When⟩ Meg came gigling to the door,
And saw her barnie’s father,
⟨O⟩ mind ye not, ye danced wi’ me,
My bonnie Maggy Lauther.
⟨Which⟩ makes me rue that day sinsyne,
That ere I heard your chanter,
⟨But⟩ now I hope you‘ll marry me,
My bonny Rob the Ranter.

For when I danc‘d, then ye advanc'd
And ye promised not to steer me,
Wae to the day I heard you play,
It makes the country jeer me.
But since that ye will comfort gi'e,
I’m glad ye've come to see me,
And from the scandal of the jigg,
In reality you will free me.

Fiddlers’ wives and gamesters’ drink
Is free to all who choose them,
But if you'll be a piper's wife,
I'll gaurd you in my bosom.
And while I live to blaw a blast,
You'se never be a wanter;
Since you're sae free to marry me,
You're bonny Rob the Ranter.