Wi' guid ait cakes, or butter bakes,
And routh o' whiskey toddy,
Wha daur complain, or mak' a mane,
That man's a saul-less body!
Auld Janet Baird.
[Air, "Johnnie M'Gill," or "The Laird o' Cockpen."]
Auld Janet Baird, auld Janet Baird,
A wonderfu' woman was auld Janet Baird,
Come gentle or semple, come cadger or caird,
A groat made them welcome wi' auld Janet Baird.
Auld Janet Baird was a changewife o' fame,
Wha keepit guid liquor, as weel's a guide name;
Could pray wi' the priest, an' could laugh wi' the laird,
For learned an' leesome was auld Janet Baird.
Auld Janet could brew a browst o' guid ale,
An' baket guid bannocks to quicken its sale,
An' while that a customer's pouch held a plack,
Auld Janet ne'er fail'd in her sang or her crack.
Auld Janet Baird was baith gaucy and sleek,
Wi' the cherry's dark red on her lip and her cheek,
Wi' a temper and tongue like a fiddle in tune,
An' merry an' licht as a laverock in June.
Auld Janet Baird had a purse fu' o' gowd,
A but an' a ben wi' guid plenishin' stow'd,
A kist fu' o' naiprie, a cow, and kail yard;
An' wha was sae bein or sae braw's Janet Baird?
Auld Janet grew wanton, auld Janet grew braw,
Wore new-fangled mutches, red ribbons, an' a',
At bridal or blythe-meat, at preachin' or fair,
The priest might be absent, but Janet was there.
Auld Janet grew skeich, an' auld Janet grew crouse,
An' she thocht a guidman a great mense to a house,
And aft to herself she wad sich and complain,
"O, woman's a wearifu' creature alane!"
The clack o' sic beinness brought customers routh,
To crack wi' the carlin, an' slocken their drouth,
An' mony's the wooer who vow'd and declared,
He'd sell his best yaud to win auld Janet Baird.
But Janet had secretly nourished for lang
A sort of love-liking for honest Laird Strang;
"He's sober an' civil—his youth can be spared;
He'd mak' a douce husband," quoth auld Janet Baird.
The wooer that's hooly is oftentimes crost,
An' words wared on courtin' are often words lost;
"For better for waur, here's my loof," quoth the Laird;
"Content; it's a bargain," quoth auld Janet Baird.
The marriage was settled, the bridal day set,
The priest, an' the piper, an' kindred were met,
They've wedded an' bedded, an' sickerly pair'd,
She's now Mrs. Strang that was auld Janet Baird.
The Wee Auld Man.
[Henry S. Riddell.—First published in the Portfolio of British Songs. The air is an old reel tune, originally called "The Drummer," but now better known by the name of "The Tailor," for which Burns wrote some words, with the burthen, "For weel he kenn'd the way, O."]
About the closin' o' the day,
The wild green woods amang, O,
A wee auld man cam' doon this way,
As fast as he could gang, O.
He entered into this wee house,
Where unco weel kent he, O,
That there, there lived a virtuous lass,
And fair as fair could be O.
For he had vow'd to ha'e, O,
To ha'e, O, to ha'e, O,
For he had vow'd to ha'e, O,
A wifie o' his ain, O.
He tell't the auld gudewife he'd come
Her dochter Jean to woo, O,
And gin she would but come wi' him,
She never would it rue, O.
For he had oxen, horse, and kye,
And sheep upon the hill, O,
And monie a cannie thing forbye,
That should be at her will, O.
For he had vow'd, &c.
The auld gudewife replied in turn.
Up rising frae her stool, O,
The lass that would your proffer spurn,
