The Complete Works. Robert Burns

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СКАЧАТЬ held in scorn;

       But he still was faithfu’ to his clan,

       My gallant braw John Highlandman.

      CHORUS.

      Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman!

       Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman!

       There’s not a lad in a’ the lan’

       Was match for my John Highlandman.

      With his philibeg an’ tartan plaid,

       An’ gude claymore down by his side,

       The ladies’ hearts he did trepan,

       My gallant braw John Highlandman.

       Sing, hey, &c.

      We ranged a’ from Tweed to Spey,

       An’ liv’d like lords and ladies gay;

       For a Lalland face he feared none,

       My gallant braw John Highlandman.

       Sing, hey, &c.

      They banished him beyond the sea,

       But ere the bud was on the tree,

       Adown my cheeks the pearls ran,

       Embracing my John Highlandman.

       Sing, hey, &c.

      But, och! they catch’d him at the last,

       And bound him in a dungeon fast;

       My curse upon them every one,

       They’ve hang’d my braw John Highlandman.

       Sing, hey, &c.

      And now a widow, I must mourn,

       The pleasures that will ne’er return:

       No comfort but a hearty can,

       When I think on John Highlandman.

       Sing, hey, &c.

      RECITATIVO.

      A pigmy scraper, wi’ his fiddle,

       Wha us’d at trysts and fairs to driddle,

       Her strappan limb and gausy middle

       He reach’d na higher,

       Had hol’d his heartie like a riddle,

       An’ blawn’t on fire.

      Wi’ hand on hainch, an’ upward e’e,

       He croon’d his gamut, one, two, three,

       Then in an Arioso key,

       The wee Apollo

       Set off wi’ Allegretto glee

       His giga solo.

      AIR.

      Tune—“Whistle o’er the lave o’t.”

      Let me ryke up to dight that tear,

       And go wi’ me and be my dear,

       And then your every care and fear

       May whistle owre the lave o’t.

      CHORUS.

      I am a fiddler to my trade,

       An’ a’ the tunes that e’er I play’d,

       The sweetest still to wife or maid,

       Was whistle owre the lave o’t.

      At kirns and weddings we’se be there,

       And O! sae nicely’s we will fare;

       We’ll house about till Daddie Care

       Sings whistle owre the lave o’t

       I am, &c.

      Sae merrily the banes we’ll byke,

       And sun oursells about the dyke,

       And at our leisure, when ye like,

       We’ll whistle owre the lave o’t.

       I am, &c.

      But bless me wi’ your heav’n o’ charms,

       And while I kittle hair on thairms,

       Hunger, cauld, and a’ sic harms,

       May whistle owre the lave o’t.

       I am, &c.

      RECITATIVO.

      Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,

       As weel as poor gut-scraper;

       He taks the fiddler by the beard,

       And draws a roosty rapier—

       He swoor by a’ was swearing worth,

       To speet him like a pliver,

       Unless he wad from that time forth

       Relinquish her for ever.

      Wi’ ghastly e’e, poor tweedle-dee

       Upon his hunkers bended,

       And pray’d for grace wi’ ruefu’ face,

       And sae the quarrel ended.

       But tho’ his little heart did grieve

       When round the tinkler prest her,

       He feign’d to snirtle in his sleeve,

       When thus the caird address’d her:

      AIR.

      Tune—“Clout the Caudron.”

      My bonny lass, I work in brass,

       A tinkler is my station:

       I’ve travell’d round all Christian ground

       In this my occupation:

       I’ve taen the gold, an’ been enrolled

       In many a noble sqadron:

       But vain they search’d, when off I march’d

       To go and clout the caudron.

       СКАЧАТЬ