Bonny Scot (2)/Gilderoy

The GILDEROY.

To its own proper tune.

WE were both born in ae town-end
and both brought up together,
I wot we were not ſeven years old,
when we lov'd one another;
Our fathers and our mothers both,
of us they had great joy,
Expecting ſtill the marriage-day,
'twixt me and Gilderoy.

My love he was as brave a man,
as ever Scotland bred,
Deſcended of a Highland Clan,
but a Catrine to his trade.
For valour he had more renown,
than Hector had in Troy,
And ev'ry wealthy rogue and clown,
was fear'd for Gilderoy.

The Queen of Scots poſſeſſed not,
that my love let me want,
Both cows and ewes to me he brought
in time when they were ſcant:
All that did not honeſtly poſſeſs,
he only would annoy,
Who duly did not pay their ceſs,
to my love Gilderoy.

When Gilderoy went to the glen,
he always chus'd the fat,
And in thoſe days there was not ten,
with him durſt bell the cat:
Though he had been as Wallace ſtout,
and tall as Dalmahoy,
He never miſs'd to get a clout,
from my love Gilderoy.

My love ſometimes when he lay down,
did kiſs me, and why not,
And bought to me a tartan gown,
and ſkyring petticoat:
A woman and a woman's ſon,
had never greater joy,
Than we two when we were alone,
I, and my Gilderoy.

At length they catch'd him on a hill,
and both his hands they ty'd,
Alledging he had done ſome ill,
but ſons of whores they ly'd:
Three gallons large of Uſquebah,
we drank at his laſt foy.
Before he went to Edinburgh,
I mean my Gilderoy.

To Edinburgh we follow'd faſt,
but lang or I came there,
They had him mounted on a maſt,
and hinging in the air.
His relicks they were more eſteem'd,
than Scanderbeg in Croy,
And ev'ry one was happy deem'd,
that gaz'd on Gilderoy.

Now I muſt fell my good beef-ſtands,
I wot they coſt me dear,
For as lang as my true love liv'd,
he fill'd them once a year:
For beef and mutton, veniſon,
of what I could deſtroy,
But now he hangs above the reſt,
my handſome Gilderoy.

I never will love man again,
my heart is now ſo ſore,
My love ſhall ſtill more ſtrong remain,
till I can love no more:
I'll ſigh and ſob till my laſt breath,
when I think on my joy,
Lamenting ſtill the tragic end,
of my love Gilderoy.

Alas! that e'er ſuch laws were made,
to hang a man for gear,
Either for ſtealing cow or ewe,
or catching horſe or mare,
Had not the laws then been ſo ſtrick,
I near had loſt my joy,
But now he lodges with Old Nick,
that hang'd my Gilderoy.

FINIS.