( 7 )
Then to his bags he flew wi’ speed,
About the drone he twisted;
Meg up, and wallop’d o’er the green,
For brawly cou’d she frisk it.
Well done, quo’ he; Play up, quo’ she,
Well bobb’d, quo’ Rob the ranter;
It’s worth my while to play indeed,
When I ha’e sic a dancer.
Well ha’e you play’d your part, quo’ Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimson;
There’s nane in Scotland plays sae weel,
Since we lost Habby Simson.
I’ve liv’d in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter;
Gin you should come to Anst’er fair,
Spier ye for Maggy Lauder.
BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY.
O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
They war’ twa bonny lasses,
They bigg’d a bow’r on yon burn brae,
And theek’d it o’er wi’ rashes.
Fair Bessy Bell I lo’ed yestreen,
And thought I ne’er cou’d alter,
But Mary Gray’s, twa pawky e’en,
They gar my fancy falter.
Now Bessy’s hair’s like a lint-tap;
She smiles like a May morning:
When Phœbus starts frae Thetis’ lap,
The hills with rays adorning.
