Tarry woo.
[The words of this song occur in the third volume of the Tea-Table Miscellany. The tune is old: that of "Lewie Gordon" is borrowed from it. "Tarry woo," says Burns, "is a very pretty song; but I fancy that the first half stanza, as well as the tune itself, are much older than the rest of the words." Burns was probably right in his conjecture. There is a couplet in Sir John Clerk's song of the "Miller," given at page 178, borrowed from "Tarry woo:"—
"Who'd be a king?—a petty thing.
When a miller lives so happy."
This is very similar to the close of the last verse—
Who'd be a king? can ony tell,
When a shepherd sings so well?
It may interest many readers in the present song when they know that it was Sir Walter Scott's almost only one. His voice as a singer belonged to that large class of human voices denominated timber-toned; and when called on for a song at a convivial meeting, he generally gotoflf by striking up a verse of "Tarry woo."]
Tarry woo, tarry woo,
Tarry woo is ill to spin;
Card it weil, card it weil,
Card it weil, ere ye begin.
When its cardit, row'd, and spun,
Then the wark is haflins done;
But, when woven, dress'd, and clean,
It may be cleadin' for a queen.
Sing my bonnie harmless sheep,
That feed upon the mountains steep,
Bleating sweetly, as ye go
Through the winter's frost and snow.
Hart, and hynd, and fallow-deer,
No by half sae useful are:
Frae kings, to him that hauds the plou',
All are obliged to tarry woo.
Up, ye shepherds, dance and skip;
Ower the hills and valleys trip;
Sing up the praise of tarry woo;
Sing the flocks that bear it too:
Harmless creatures, without blame,
That clead the back, and cram the wame;
Keep us warm and hearty fou—
Leeze me on the tarry woo.
How happy is the shepherd's life,
Far frae courts and free of strife!
While the gimmers bleat and bae,
And the lambkins answer mae;
No such music to his ear!
Of thief or fox he has no fear:
Sturdy kent, and collie true,
Weil defend the tarry woo.
He lives content, and envies none:
Not even a monarch on his throne,
Though he the royal sceptre sways,
Has such pleasant holidays.
Who'd be king, can ony tell,
When a shepherd sings sae well?
Sings sae well, and pays his due
With honest heart and tarry woo.