THE BARRING O' THE DOOR. From Herd's Collection. The song is sung to an English tune called "An old woman clothed in grey." IT fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was than, When our gudewife got puddings to mak', The wind sae cauld blew east and north, It blew into the floor; Quoth our gudeman to our gude wife, "My hand is in my hussy'f skap, Gudeman, as ye may see; An' it shou'd nae be barred this hundred year, They made a paction 'tween them twa, That whae'er should speak the foremost word Then by there came twa gentlemen At twelve o'clock at night, And they could neither see house nor hall, Nor coal nor candle light. Now whether is this a rich man's house, Or whether is it a poor? But never a word wad ane o' them speak, And first they ate the white puddings, And then they ate the black; Though muckle thought the gudewife to hersel', Then up and started our gudewife, Gied three skips on the floor: "Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost word,- This song was first printed by David Herd, who wrote it down from a traditionary version. It is generally sung with the following lines as a chorus: "Oh, the barring of our door, Weel, weel, weel; And the barring of our door, weel." THE DUSTY MILLER. From "Johnson's Museum," 1782. HEY, the dusty miller Ere he spend a groat. Dusty was the coat, That I gat frae the miller. Hey, the dusty miller, Brings the dusty siller FAIRLY SHOT OF HER. OH, gin I were fairly shot o' her, If she were dead, I wad dance on the top o' her. Till we were married I couldna see licht till her; Nane o' her relations or friends could stay wi' her; She gangs aye sae braw, she's sae muckle pride in her; If the time were but come that to the kirk-gate wi’ her, I'd then be as bly the as first when I met wi' her- This is a modern version of an old song, and is said to have been written by one John Anderson, at that time apprentice to Johnson the engraver, and publisher of the "Museum," where the song first appeared. WHA wadna be in love Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder? A piper met her gaun to Fife, And speir'd what was't they ca'd her. Right scornfully she answer'd him, Begone, you hallanshaker! Jog on your gate, you bladderskate! Maggie, quo' he, and by my bags, My name is Rob the Ranter; Piper, quo' Meg, hae ye your bags, The lasses a', baith far and near, Hae heard o' Rob the Ranter; I'll shake my foot with right gude will, Then to his bags he flew wi' speed, Weel hae you play'd your part, quo' Meg; I've lived in Fife, baith maid and wife, "This old song," says Burns, "so pregnant with Scottish naïveté and energy, is much relished by all ranks. Its language is a precious model of imitation,—sly, sprightly, and forcibly expressive. Maggie's tongue wags out the nick-names of Rob the piper with all the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety." KISSING'S NO SIN. ANONYMOUS. Seventeenth or eighteenth century. SOME say that kissing's a sin; For kissing has wonn'd in this warld Since ever that there was twa. Oh, if it wasna lawfu', Lawyers wadna allow it; If it wasna holy, Ministers wadna do it. |