Janet Dunbar.
[Robert Nicoll.—Air, "Glenorchy braes."—Printed here with the permission of Nicol's publisher, Mr. Tait of Edinburgh.]
A sonsie auld carline is Janet Dunbar,
A donsie auld carline is Janet Dunbar;
For a gash skilly body, weel kent near and far,
Thro' the hail kintra side, canty Janet Dunbar.
Folk spier her advice, baith the greatest and least,
For she cures a' diseases o' man an' o' beast;
She has words that will keep awa' witches and dells,
She has syrups in bottles, and herbs in auld creels;
To caulds and rheumatics she proves sic a fae,
They canna get rest in the parish a day;
In this queer kind o' warld there's mony a waur,
Than our cheery auld carline, gash Janet Dunbar!
A sonsie, &c.
Her hame is a howf to the bairnies at schule,
And she dauts them an' hauds them fu' couthie an' weel;
Till in her auld lug a' their sorrows they tell,
For she'll scold for their sakes, e'en the dominie's sell!
But Janet's hie time is when night settles doun,
An' a' the auld wives gather in frae the toun,
To tell what they are na, and thae ither are,
This is meat, drink, and claething to Janet Dunbar.
A sonsie, &c.
And Janet's auld house has a butt and a ben,
Where twa folk can meet and let naebody ken;
For Janet thinks true love nane e'er should restrain,
Having had, thretty years' sin', a lad o' her ain;
And then when the whispering and courting has dune,
For some lee-like story is Janet in tune,
About some bluidy doings in some Highland scaur,
You're a queer ane!—'deed are ye noo, Janet Dunbar.
A sonsie, &c.
But when some o' her cronies ha'e kirsen'd a wean,
Then Janet sae braw in her glory is seen,
She winks to the neighbours, and jokes the guidman,
Till his face grows sae red, that he maistly could ban;
Syne she turns to the mither, an' tak's the wean's loof,
An' tells that he'll neither be laggard nor coof!
You're a happy auld body—sae bright be your star,
And lang may ye stump about, Janet Dunbar.
A sonsie, &c.