York, you're wanted

York, you're wanted;

To which are added,

The Irish wedding.

My Peggy is a young thing.

Lochaber no more.

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EDINBURGH:
Printed for the Booksellers in Town and Country.

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1823.

 

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YORK, YOU'RE WANTED.

From York I com'd to get a place,
And travelled to this town, Sir;
In Holborn I an office found,
Of credit and renown, Sir:
Says I, pray Sir, get me a place,
Says he, your prayer is granted:
And when I meet with one that suits,
I'll tell you, York, you're wanted.

A gentleman soon hired me,
I found he was a gambler:
Says he, I want a steady lad.
Says I, Sir, I'm no rambler:
But if you want a knowing one,
By few I am supplanted;
Oh! that is just the thing for me,
So, Mr York, you're wanted,

Now I knew somewhat of a hoya,
And measter just the same, Sir;
And if we didn't do the fools,
Ecod we'd been to blame⟨,⟩ Sir;
At races then we both look'd out,
For cash each bosom panted,

And when we thought the flats would bite,
The word was—York, you're wanted.

A maiden lady, you must know,
Just sixty-three years old, Sir,
There fell in love with my sweet face,
And I with ⟨her⟩ sweet gold, Sir.
She said, the little god of love
Her tender bosom haunted,—
Dear Sir, I almost blush to own,
But. Mr York⟨,⟩ you're wanted.

In wedlock's joys, you need not doubt,
Most happily I roll'd Sir,
And how we lov'd, or how we fought,
Shall never now be told, Sir;
For Mr Death stept in one day,
And swift his dart he planted,
I wip'd my eyes, and thank'd my stars
'Twas Mrs York he wanted.

So ladies pray not guard your hearts,
A secret while I tell, O;
A widower with half a plum
Must needs be a rich fellow.
With fifty thousand pounds, I think,
I ought not to be daunted;
Some lovely girl, I hope, ere long,
Will say, Sweet York, you're wanted.

 

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THE IRISH WEDDING⟨.⟩

Sure wont you hear what roving cheer,
Was spread at Paddy's wedding O,
And how so gay they spent the day,
From churching to the bedding O:
First book in hand came Father Quipes,
With the brides dad the ballie O:
While the chanter with his merry pipes,
Struck up a lilt gaily O.
⁠Teddery, taddery, &c.

Now there was Mat and sturdy Pat,
And merry Morgan Murphy:
And Murdoch Mags and ⟨Tirloch⟩ Skags,
M'Laughlan and Dick Durfey O.
And then the girls rigged out in white,
Led on by Ted O'Reily O;
While the chanter with his merry pipes,
Struck up a lilt so gaily O.
⁠Teddery, teddery, &c.

When Pat was asked if his love would last,
The chapel echoed with laughter O:
By my soul, says Pat, you may say that,
To the end of the world, and after O.

Then tenderly her hand he gripes,
And kisses her genteely O:
While the chanter with his merry pipes,
Struck up a lilt so gaily O.
⁠Teddery, teddery, O.

Then a roaring set at dinner were met,
So frolicksome and so frisky O;
Potatoes galore, a skirrag or more,
With a flowing madder of whisky O,
Then round, to be sure did'nt go the swipes,
At the bride's expence so freely O:
While the chanter with his merry pips,
Struck up a lilt so gaily O.
⁠Teddery, teddery, &c.

And then at night. O what delight,
To see them capering and prancing O:
An opera or ball was nothing at all
Compar'd to the style of their dancing O,
And then to see old father Quipes
Beating time with his shilelah O,
While the chanter with his merry pipes
Stuck up a lilt so gaily O.
⁠Teddery, teddery &c.

And now the knot so lucky are got,
They'll go to sleep without rocking O:

While the bride-maids fair do gravely prepare,
For throwing of the stocking O.
Dacadens we'll have says father Danes
And the bride was kissed genteelly O.
While, to wish them fun, the merry pipes,
Struck up a lilt so gaily O.
⁠Teddery, teddery &c.

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MY PEGGY IS A YOUNG THING⟨.⟩

My Peggy is a young thing,
Just entered in her teens,
Fair at the day, and sweet as May,
Fair as the day, and always gay.
My Peggy is a young thing,
And I'm not very auld,
Yet weel I like to meet her at
The wauking o' the fauld.

My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
Whene'er we meet alane,
I wish nae mair to lay my care,
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare.
My Peggy speaks sae sweetly,
To a' the lave I'm cauld,
But she gars a' my spirits glow,
At wauking o' the fauld.

My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
Whene'er I whisper love,
That I look down on a' the town,
That I look down upon a crown,
My Peggy smiles sae kindly,
It make me blythe and bauld,
And naething gi'es me sic delight
As wauking o' the fauld.

My Peggy sings sae saftly,
When on my pipe I play,
By a' the rest it is confest,
By a' the rest, that she sings best,
My Peggy sings sae saftly
And in her sangs are tauld,
With innocence, the wale o' sense,
As wauking o' the fauld.

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LOCHABER NO MORE.

⟨Fareweel⟩ to Lochaber and fareweel to my Jean,
Where ⟨heartsome⟩ with thee I have mony days ⟨been⟩
For Lochaber no more Lochaber no more,
We'll may be return to Lochaber no more.

Those tears that I shed they are a' for my dear,
And no for the ⟨dangers⟩ attending on weir;

Though born on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
May be to return to Lochaber no more.

Tho' hurricane rise, and rise every wind,
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind,
Tho' loudest of thunder on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.

To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd;
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave,
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany maun plead my excuse,
Since honour commands me how can I refuse
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee;
And without thy favour I'd better not be:

I gae then, my lass to win honour and fame,
And if I hae luck to come gloriously hame,
A heart I will bring thee with love running o'er.
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.

FINIS.