WILLIAM BELL SCOTT
We drew a glove on ilka hand, We sweetly curtsied, each to each, And deftly danced a saraband.
The market-lassies look'd and laugh'd,
Left their gear, and look'd and laugh'd; They made as they would join the game, But soon their mithers, wild and wud, With whack and screech they stopp'd the same.
Sae loud the tongues o' randies grew, The flytin' and the skirlm' grew, At all the windows in the place, Wf spoons or knives, wi' needle or awl, Was thrust out every hand and face.
And down each stair they throng'd anon,
Gentle, semple, throng'd anon: Soutcr and tailor, frowsy Nan, The ancient widow young again, Simpering behind her fan.
Without a choice, against their will,
Doited, dazed, against their will, The market lassie and her mither, The farmer and his husbandman, Hand in hand dance a' thegither.
Slow at first, but faster soon,
Still increasing, wild and fast, Hoods and mantles, hats and hose, Blindly dofPd and cast away, Left them naked, heads and toes.
wud] mad randies] viragoes. flytin'] scolding,
skirlin'] shrieking. souter] cobbler. doited] mazed.
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