9
Then to his bags he flew wi‘ speed'
And round his drone he twisted,
Meg up and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.
Well done quo' he,—play up quo' she,
We‘ll bob‘d quo' Rob the Ranter,
‘Tis worth my while to play quo he,
When I get sic a dancer.
Well hae you play'd your part quo' Meg,
Your cheeks are like the crimson,
There's nane in Scotland play like you,
Since we lost Habbie Simson,
I've lived in Fife baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter,
When ye came there to Amst'er fair,
Speer ye for Maggy Lauther.
Then Rob he rous'd and took the road,
And round all Fife he ranted,
And play'd a spring thro’ Siler-dykes,
As merry Meg he wanted:
⟨And⟩ as he enter'd Amst‘er town,
His drone it sounded louder,
⟨His⟩ bags he blew till the chanter flew,
No pipes were ever prouder.
⟨When⟩ Meg came gigling to the door,
And saw her barnie’s father,
⟨O⟩ mind ye not, ye danced wi’ me,
My bonnie Maggy Lauther.
⟨Which⟩ makes me rue that day sinsyne,
That ere I heard your chanter,
⟨But⟩ now I hope you‘ll marry me,
My bonny Rob the Ranter.
