Kattie's answer to wabster Jock/Kattie's Answer to Wabster Jock, together with Jock's Reply

KATIE’S ANSWER TO WABSTER JOCK.

Tune,—Here awa' there awa' had awa’ hame.

PRESERVE us, Johnny, you’ve trantlooms mony,
I thought I saw them a’ wi' my een,
But tho’ ye skin them up fu bonnie,
Ye’re no sae rich as ye wad seem,

The loom, for guidesake, ride nae mair on her,
Ye'll break her back she’s sauce at the bame,
Amang the tredles ye’ll light wi’ dishouour,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

Your heddles are auld your kavels are rotten,
Your shuttle’s a lazy jade. I ween,
Your tradles but arnie and twa o' them broken,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

I douna think on caun your pirns,
Ye'll ay be girnin, an’ ay at hame,
I doubt ye’ve stoun your teats o’ yearn,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

For a' your mug an' stinking sowen,
I rather wad hae a cogfu o‘ ream,
Commend me to a lad wi' a prowin,
Ye re no sae rich as ye wad seem.

I saw the pot ye got from Holland,
Reaming wi' wash a hint your loom,
To lay the touzie hair o the plaiden,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

A spurtle, Johnny, is easy gotten,
Ony ⟨bi⟩t stick may do that's clean,
But whar's the meal to mak the brose,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

Your hugg⟨\⟩r an salt is black and reeked,
Wad poi⟨s⟩on a sow it's far frae clean,
An wha wad marry a man for a jacket,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem

Ye brag me wi' the half o' your herrin,
But I could eat a heal ane my self,
I doubt your livin l be but sharin,
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem,

About your bassen I'll say but little,
But what's in the kist I fain wad ken,
I doubt. I doubt its as dry as a whistle;
Ye're no sae rich as ye wad seem.

But tho' your purse be blank an' hollow,
Its hard to say yet what may be done,
But after a' ye're a canty fellow,
Tho' no sae rich as ye wad seem.

Sae tak your plaid about you Johnny,
Sae come your was up by at een,
I like a lad that's brisk and bonny,
Tho' no sae rich as ye wad seem.

JOCK‘S REPLY.

I have bought a loom, my lassie in summer,
Altho she be old she is hard at the beam,
Four and twenty years ye may ride on the limmer,
Ye thought I was poor but your‘e fairly mistain.

A hugar an fat for want of a bakey.
It lies beyont the fire on a stane,
A 'tatoe beetle for a' your joking,
Ye thought I was poor but you're fairly mistane.

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