7
When he look’d out at the window, he saw his daughter’s face,
With his hat in his hand he made a great phrase.
Keep on your hat, farmer, don’t let it fa’,
For it sets not the peacock to bow to the crow.
It’s hold your tongue, Sawney, and do not taunt me,
For my daughter’s not worthy your bride for to be.
Now he held his bridle reins, till he came down,
And then he conveyed him to a fine room;
With the finest of spirits they drank a fine toast,
And the son and the father drank both in one glass.
The Crook and Plaid.
If lassies loe the laddies, they surely should confess,
For every lassie has a lad she loes aboon the rest;
He’s dearer to her bosom whatever be his trade,
And through life I’ll loe the laddie that wears the Crook and Plaid.
He’s aye true to his lover, aye true to me.
He climbs the mountains early, his fleecy flocks to view,
He spier the little laverocks spring out frae ’mang the dew;
His faithful little dogie, so frolicsome and glad,
Wanders forward with the laddie that wears the Crook and Plaid.
