THE BLAITHRIE O’T.
The following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing.
“O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand
To sing you a song which you did me command;
But my memory’s so bad I had almost forgot
That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o’t.—
I’ll not sing about confusion, delusion or pride,
I’ll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o’t.—
Tho’ my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on,
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;
I wad rather hae my lassie, tho’ she cam in her smock,
Than a princess wi’ the gear and the blaithrie o’t.—
Tho’ we hae nae horses or menzies at command,
We will toil on our foot, and we’ll work wi’ our hand;
And when wearied without rest, we’ll find it sweet in any spot,
And we’ll value not the gear and the blaithrie o’t.—
If we hae ony babies, we’ll count them as lent;
Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content;
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins bu groat,
Than the miser wi’ his gear and the blaithrie o’t—
I’ll not meddle wi’ th’ affairs of the kirk or the queen;
They’re nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim;
On your kirk I’ll ne’er encroach, but I’ll hold it stil remote,
Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o’t.”