Bailie Nicol Jarvie's journey to Aberfoil/Bailie Nicol Jarvie's journey to Aberfoil

BAILIE NICOL JARVIE'S JOURNEY TO
ABERFOIL
AIR—Quaker's Wife

You may talk o' your Wallace, and talk o' your Bruce
And talk o' your fechting Red Reiver;
But whar will you find a great man o' sic use
As a thorough-bred Saut-Market weaver?
Let ance Nicol Jarvie come under your view,
At hame whar the people adore me;
Wher they made me a bailie, and counsellor too,
Like my father, the deacon, before me.
The clavering chiels, in the clachan hard by,
They'll no gie a body but hard words:
My faith! they shall find, if again they will try,
A het poker's as guide as their braid swords.
"It's as weel though to let that flea stick fast to the wa';"
For mayhap the may chance to claymore me;
To let "sleepin' dogs lie" is the best thing ava',
Said my father, the deacon, before me.
My poor cousin Rab, an' his terrible wife,
Was sae proud that she chose to disowa me;
Feint a bodle cared she for a magistrate's life,
My consciences slie was just gaun to drown me.
If again in her clutches I ever should pop,
Poor Matty may live to deplore me;
But were I at Glasgow, I'd stick by my shop,
Like my father, the deacon, before me.
Now to think o them hanging a bailie so high,
To be picked at by corbies and burdies;
Had I them at Glasgow, my conscience! I'd try
How their craigs stood the weight o' their hurdies.
But stop, Nicol, stop, man na, that maunna be
For if some ane to hame wad restore ye,
In the Saut-Market safe, ye'd forget and forgie,
Like your father, the deacon, before ye.
In favour o' Matty a word let me say,
Of Lunnun quean's she's worth a dozen;
Through the foul paths o' darkness she leads me the way,
Though of Limmerfield she's the Laird's cousin.
To match wi' my Matry I'm no that aboon,
And young Nicol I shall adore him,
If he to his friends but as gratefu' do prove
As his father, the bailie, before him.