Sandy Allan.
[Alex. Hume.—Air, "Saw ye Johnny coming."]
Wha is he I hear sae crouse,
There ahint the hallan?
Whase skirling rinus through a' the house,
Ilk corner o' the dwallin'.
O! it is ane, a weel kent chiel,
As mirth e'er set a bawlin',
Or filled a neuk in drouthy biel,—
It's canty Sandy Allan.
He has a gauey kind gude wife,
This blythesome Sandy Allan,
Wha lo'es him mickle mair than life,
An' glories in her callan.
As sense an' sound are ane in song,
Sae's Jean an' Sandy Allan,
Twa hearts, yet but ae pulse an' tongue,
Ha'e Luckie an' her callan.
To gi'e to a', it's aye his rule,
Their proper name an' callin';
A knave's a knave, a fule's a fule,
Wi' honest Sandy Allan.
For ilka vice he has a dart,
An' heavy is it's fallin';
But aye for worth a kindred heart
Has ever Sandy Allan.
To kings his knee he wunna bring,
Sae proud is Sandy Allan;
The man wha richtly feels is king,
Owre rank, wi' Sandy Allan.
Auld Nature just to show the warl',
Ae truly honest callan;
E'en strippit till't, and made a carle,
An' ca'd him Sandy Allan.