The Ploughman
[This is an old song, furbished up a little by Burns for Johnson's Museum.]
The ploughman he's a bonnie lad,
His mind is ever true, jo,
His garters knit below his knee,
His bonnet it is blue, jo.
Then up wi't a', my ploughman lad,
And hey, my merry ploughman;
Of a' the trades that I do ken,
Commend me to the ploughman.
My ploughman he comes hame at e'en,
He's aften wat and weary:
Cast aff the wat, put on the dry,
And gae to bed, my dearie.
Then up wi't a', &c.
I will wash my ploughman's hose,
And I will dress his o'erlay.
I will mak' my ploughman's bed,
And cheer him late and early.
Then up wi't a', &c.
I ha'e been east, I ha'e been west,
I ha'e been at St. Johnston,
The bonniest sight that e'er I saw
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'.
Then up wi't a', &c.
Snaw-white stockings on his legs,
And siller buckles glancin';
A gude blue bannet on his head,
And Oh! but he was handsome.
Then up wi't a', &c.