Blythsome bridal/The Blythsome Bridal

THE BLYTHSOME BRIDAL

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FY let us a’ to the Bridal,
⁠For there will be lilting there,
For Jock’s to be marry’d to Maggy,
⁠The lass wi’ the gouden hair.
And there will be lang kail and pottage.
⁠And bannocks o’ barley meal:
And there will be good sa’t herrings.
⁠To relish a cog o’ good ale.

⁠⁠Fy let us a’ to the Bridal, &c.

And there will be Sandy the souter,
⁠And Will wi’ the meikle mou’
And there will be Tam the butler,
⁠With Andrew the Tinker I trow,
And there will be bow’d legged Robbie,
⁠With thumbless Katty’s goodman:
⟨And⟩ there will be blue cheeked Dowbie,
⁠And Lourie the laird of the land.

And there will be sow libber Patie.
⁠Plucky fac’d Wat i' the mill,
apper-nos’d Patie and Gibbie,
⁠That wins in the how o’ the hill ;
And there will be Alaster Sibbie,
⁠Wha in wi’ black Bessy did mooll,
With snivelling Lilly and Tibby,
⁠The lass that stands aft on the stool.

And Madge that was buckled Steenie
⁠And coft him grey breeks to his arse
Wha after was hangit for stealing
⁠Great mercy it happen’d na warse;
And there will be gleed Geordy Janners,
⁠And Kirst wi' the lily white leg,
Wha gade to the south for manners,
⁠And bang'd up her wame in Mona Meg.

And there will be Judan Maclawrie,
⁠And blinking daft Barbra Macleg,
Wi’ flae lugged sharney fac’d Lawrie,
⁠And shangy mou’d haluket Meg,
And there will be happer ars’d Nancy,
⁠And fairie fac’d Flowrie by name,
With Madie, and fat hippet Girsy,
⁠The lass wi’ the gouden wame.

And there will be girn again Gibbie,
⁠Wi’ his glaiket wife Jenny Bell,
And misle shin’d Mango Macapie,
⁠The lad that was skipper himsel.
There lads and lasses in pearling.
⁠Will feast in the heart of the ha’,
On sybows, and rifarts and carlings,
⁠That are baith sodden and raw,

And there will be sadings brochan,
⁠Wi' fouth o’ gude gabbocks o’ skate.
Powsoddy, and drummock, and crowdy
⁠And caller nowt feet in a plate.
And there will be partans aad buckies,
⁠And whytens and speldens enew,
With sing’d sheep-heads and a haggies,
⁠And scadlips to sup till ye spew.

And there will be lapper’d milk kebbucks,
⁠And sowens, and farls, and baps,
With swats and scraped paunches,
⁠And brandy in stoups and in caps,
And there will be meal kail and custocks,
⁠With skink to sup till we rive,
And roasts to roast on a brander,
⁠Of fleuks that were taken alive.

Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle,
⁠And a mill of good snishing to prie ;
When weary with eatinT and drinking,
⁠We’ll rise up and dance till we die.
Then fy let us a’ to the bridal,
⁠For there will be lilting there,
For Jock’s to be married to Maggy,
⁠The lass wi’ the gouden hair.