Humours of Glasgow fair (1)/Auld John Paul

AULD JOHN PAUL.

Auld John Paul was nae lazy man,
An’ auld John Paul was nae crazy man;
Tho’ his haffits were white, and his noddle was haul
Yet a slee, funny joker was auld John Paul.
Auld John Paul had a widower been
For towmonds, they said, about twal' or threteen;
Yet it lap in his head—tho’ I’m now turnin’ auld,
I may yet get a help-meet, thinks auld John Paul.

Sae he daunert down to Nanse M'Nees,
Wha keepit the sign o’ the gowd cross-keys;
A cantie widow, baith stout an’ hale,
Wha had sav’d a bit trifle by sellin’ ale.
Sae he ca’d for a dram, and begoud to crack,
An’ syne about wedlock a joke he brak’,
While the kimmer she leugh, an' said, sooth, but ye’re baul’,
Wad ye yet face the minister, auld John Paul.

The kintra says ye’re a douse auld man,
But I really think ye’re a crouse auld man,
Wha yet wad mell wi’ anither wife,
When ye’ve sprauchilt sae far up tho hill o’ life;
Ye hae routh to keep ony wife bien, John Paul,
I’m redd ye’se get ane at fifteen, John Paul,
To look on your spunk, it’s new life to the saul,
Your the flower o’ the clachan yoursel’, John Paul.

Nae glaikit young jillet for me, quo’ John,
Tho’ I hae a billet for thee, quo’ John,
Gin the smith ye’ll discard, wi’ his lang sooty beard,
Ye’se my siller get ilka bawbee, quo’ John;
An’ nae mair wi’ the souter ye’ll fash, quo’ John,
For he’s drucken ilk plack o’ his cash, quo’ John,
An’ the miller’s gane thro’ a’ his mailin, I trow,
And forbye, he’s a daft gom’ral hash, quo’ John.

But the bodral cam in roarin’ fou to Name,
Sayin’, John Paul, what want ye now wi’ Nanse?
Ye had better gae beek at your ain ingle cheek,
For I’ve offer’d mysel’ afore you to Nanse.
It’s a won’er to look at auld fools, John Paul,
Wha mauu soon hurkle down ’mang the mools, John Paul,
Soon the divots will swaird owre your head in my yaird,
Whan I’ve happit you up wi’ my shools, John Paul.

Confound your ill-breeding, gae out, quo’ Nanse,
Or the tangs I’ll bring owre your lang snout, quo' Nanse,
Ye’ll come here to scaul’, and to kick up a brawl,
Will ye e’er be a man like John Paul, quo’ Nanse.
Sae the bedrel did swagger out raging mad,
Misca’in the alewife for a’ that was bad,
While the neebors assembl’d to witness the brawl,
Sayin’, wha wad hae thought this o’ auld John Paul.

Sae they were cried, an’ buckled syne,
Tho weddin’ was a special shine,
Saxscore o’ neebours young and aul’,
Ate, drank, and danc’d wi’ auld John Paul.
They ranted and sang till the day did daw’,
E’er ane o’ the guests thought o’ gaun awa’,
An’ the fiddler swore nane shook a suppler spaul
On the floor the hale night than did auld John Paul.