Woo'd and married and a'.
[Joanna Baillie.—This admirable version of it "Woo'd an' married an' a'" was first published in Mr. George Thomson's collection of National Melodies, and is here printed with his permission.]
The bride she is winsome and bonnie,
Her hair it is snooded sae sleek,
And faithful and kind is her Johnnie,
Yet fast fa' the tears on her cheek.
New pearlings are cause o' her sorrow,
New pearlings and plenishing too;
The bride that has a' to borrow,
Has e'en right meikle ado.
Woo'd and married and a',
Woo'd and married and a',
And is na she very weel aff
To be woo'd and married and a'?
Her mother then hastily spak':
"The lassie is glaiket wi' pride;
In my poaches I hadna a plack
The day that I was a bride.
E'en tak' to your wheel and be clever,
And draw out your thread in the sun,
The gear that is gifted, it never
Will last like the gear that is won.
Woo'd an' married an' a',
Tocher and havings sae sma'
I think ye are very weel aff,
To be woo'd and married an' a',"
"Toot, toot!" quo' the grey-headed father,
"She's less of a bride than a bairn,
She's ta'en like a cowt frae the heather,
Wi' sense and discretion to learn.
Half husband, I trow, and half daddy,
As humour inconstantly leans;
A chiel may be constant and steady
That yokes wi' a mate in her teens.
'Kerchief to cover so neat,
Locks the winds used to blaw,
I'm baith like to laugh and to creet,
When I think o' her married at a'."
Then out spak' the wily bridegroom,
Weel waled were his wordies I ween;
"I'm rich, though my coffer be toom,
Wi' the blinks o' your bonnie blue een;
I'm prouder o' thee by my side,
Though thy ruffles or ribbons be few,
Than if Kate o' the craft were my bride,
Wi' purples and pearlings enew.
Dear and dearest of ony,
Ye're woo'd and bookit and a',
And do ye think scorn o' your Johnnie,
And grieve to be married at a'."
She turn'd, and she blush'd, and she smil'd,
And she lookit sae bashfully down;
The pride o' her heart was beguil'd,
And she play'd wi' the sleeve o' her gown;
She twirl'd the tag o' her lace,
And she nippet her boddice sae blue,
Syne blinket sae sweet in his face,
And aff like a mawkin she flew.
Woo'd and married and a',
Married and carried awa';
She thinks hersel' very weel aff,
To be woo'd and married and a'.
The Lass o' Carron side.
[C. J. Finlayson.—Here first printed.]
Oh! whar will I gae find a place
To close my sleepless een,
And whar will I gae seek the peace
I witless tint yestreen?
My heart that wont to dance as licht
As moonshine o'er the tide,
Now pines in thrall by luckless love
For the lass o' Carron side.
She sat the Goddess of the stream
That murmur'd at her feet,
And aye she sung her artless sang
Wi' a voice unearthly sweet;
Sae sweet,—the birds that wont to wake
The morn wi' glee and pride,
Sat mute, to hear the witching strain
O' the lass o' Carron side.
Sair may I rue my reckless haste,
Sair may I ban the hour,
That lur'd me frae my peacefu' cot
Within the Siren's power,
Oh! had she sprung frae humble race
As she's frae ane o' pride,
I might ha'e dreed a better weird
Wi' the lass o' Carron side.
