The Gallant Weaver
Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant Weaver. O, I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear’d my heart wad tine, And I gied it to the Weaver. My daddie sign’d my tocher-band, To gie the lad that has the land, But to my heart I’ll add my hand, And give it to the Weaver. While birds rejoice in leafy bowers, While bees delight in opening flowers, While corn grows green in summer showers, I love my gallant Weaver. [Footnote 1: The Duke of Queensberry.]
Epigram At Brownhill Inn1
At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer, And plenty of bacon each day in the year; We’ve a’ thing that’s nice, and mostly in season, But why always Bacon—come, tell me a reason? You’re Welcome, Willie Stewart Chorus.—You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, There’s ne’er a flower that blooms in May, That’s half sae welcome’s thou art! Come, bumpers high, express your joy, The bowl we maun renew it, The tappet hen, gae bring her ben, To welcome Willie Stewart, You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, &c. May foes be strang, and friends be slack Ilk action, may he rue it, May woman on him turn her back That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart, You’re welcome, Willie Stewart, &c.