And there he spied a powder'd wig How cam' this wig here A clocken-hen! quo' he; Far hae I ridden, And muckle hae I seen; But powder on a clocken-hen Saw I never nane. Our gudeman cam' hame at e'en, And hame cam' he; And there he saw a muckle coat Where nae coat should be. How cam' this coat here? How can this be? How cam' this coat here? Without the leave o' me? And blinder mat ye be ! And muckle hae I seen; But buttons upon blankets Saw I never nane. Ben gaed our gudeman And ben gaed he; And there he spied a sturdy man Where nae man should be. How cam' this man here? How can this be? How cam' this man here Without the leave o' me? Puir blind body, And blinder mat ye be! My mither sent to me. Far hae I ridden, And muckle hae I seen; But lang-bearded maidens This excellent old song has been claimed as English, but its whole character is evidently Scottish. Johnson, the editor of the Musical Museum," recovered the air, which had been lost, from the singing of a barber in Edinburgh, and printed it for the first time in his collection. There is another version with a denouement more suitable to the delicacy of the present age than that commonly sung, and in which the following stanza concludes the story: Oh, hame cam' our gudeman at e'en, An' ben ga'ed he; An' he saw a muckie man Where nae man should be. An' how cam' this man here A man! quo' she; Ay, a man, quo' he. Oh, hooly, hooly, our gudeman! It's just our cousin Mackintosh Cousin Mackintosh! quo' he: Ye're hidin' rebels in the house Without the leave o' me. 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 gude wife got puddings to mak', The wind sae cauld blew east and north, Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, "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', 66 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 It is generally sung with the following lines as a chorus: version. "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, Dusty was the colour; That I gat frae the miller. Hey, the dusty miller, Brings the dusty siller FAIRLY SHOT OF HER. From "Johnson's Museum." 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. |