SONGS
KATE DALRYMPLE.
In a wee cot house far ayont yon muir,
Whare peeseweeps, plovers, and whaups cry dreary,
There lived a braw lass for mony a lang year,
Wham ne’er a lover o’er ca’d deary.
A lonely lass was Kate Dalrymp’e,
A thrifty queen was Kate Dalrymple,
Nae music except the burnies wimple,
Was heard round the dwelling of Kate Dalrymple.
Her face had a smack of the gruesome and grim,
Which did frae the fash of a’ wooers defend her,
Her lang Roman nose nearly met wi’ her chin,
Which brang folk in mind of the auld witch of Endor.
A wiggle in her walk had Kate Dalrymple,
A sneevle in her talk had Kate Dalrymple,
And mony a cornelian and cairngorum pimple,
Beamed on the dim face of Kate Dalrymple.
She span tarry woo the hale winter through,
For Kate was nae lazy but eident and thrifty,
She wrought among the peats, coiled the hay, shure the
corn,
And supported herself by her ain hard shift aye.
