The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud an' he's great,
His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the State;
He wanted a wife his braw house to keep,
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious to seek.
Doon by the dyke-side a lady did dwell,
At his table-head he thocht she'd look well;
M'Cleish's ae dochter, o' Clavers-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel pouther'd, as gude as when new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, an' cocked hat,
An' wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that?
He took the grey mare, he rade cannilie,
An' rapped at the yett o' Clavers-ha' Lee;
'Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,—
She's wanted to speak wi' the Laird o' Cockpen.'
Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flow'r wine;
'An' what brings the Laird at sic a like time?'
She put aff her apron, an' on her silk goon,
Her mutch wi' red ribbons, an' gaed awa' doon.
An' when she cam' ben he bowèd fu' low,
An' what was his errand he soon let her know;
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said 'Na!'
An' wi' a laigh curtsie she turnèd awa'!
Dumfounder'd was he, but nae sigh did he gi'e,
He mounted his mare an' he rade cannilie;
An' often he thocht, as he gaed through the glen,
'She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen!'
CALLER HERRIN'
Wha'll buy my caller herrin'?
They're bonnie fish and halesome farin';
Wha'll buy my caller herrin',
New drawn frae the Forth?