The kintry a' baith far and near,
has heard of Rab the Ranter,
I'll shake my foot wi' right good will,
gin ye will blaw your chanter.
Then to his bags he flew wi' speed,
aud 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,
Well bob'd quo' Rab the Ranter,
'Tis worth my while to play, quo' he,
when I get sic a dancer.
Well hae ye play'd your part, quo' Meg
your cheeks are like the crimson,
There's nane in Scotland plays liks you,
Siuce we lost Habbie Simson:
I've liv'd in Fife baith maid and wife
These ten years and a quarter,
When ye come there to Amst'er fair,
spier 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' Siller-dykes,
as merry Meg he wanted:
