True lover's garland (1)/Will's courtship, and Katie's victory

WILL’S COURTSHIP,

AND

KATIE'S VICTORY.

YE lads and lasses, far and near,
Come listen to my ditto, O,
How muirland Will, at Glasgow Fair,
Pick’d up a maid so pretty, O.
As Will was walkin’ up the street,
He almost tint his senses, O,
For ilka lass that he did meet
So kill’d him wi’ their glances, O.

At last a fair one she came by,
Will's very een enriched, O,
He stood and mus’d, and gaz’d around,
Just like a man bewitched, O.
At last, Will he recover'd strength,
And says, My lovely creature, O,
Your beauty rare makes you exceed
All other works of nature, O.

And if that you could fancy me,
Or on poor Will tak' pity, O,
My riches a’ I'd freely gi'e
To you, my lovely Katie, O.
I ha’e a house, a guid kail yard,
And twa milk kye for butter, O,
A note or twa in the kist neuk,

To buy baith tea and succur, O.

Will had na very much to say,
Yet it was something funny, O;
But, for to ct a long tale short,
He bragg’d weel o’ his money, O.
The lassie’s heart was easy won,
She lik’d to hear o’ riches, O;
Besides, she thought o’er simple Will
She’d easy wear the breeches, O.

So Will and Kate they soon were wed,
But mark what follow’d after, O;
The honey moon was senreely pass’d,
Till they fill’d the town wi’ laughter, O;
For Will supp’d brose, and Kate lov’d tea,
This caus'd their first disaster, O:
Then worse and worse the contest grew,
Will curs’d her for a waster, O.

Then Kate she rose in furious rage,
And at him she let blatter, O,
The poker, tongs, and ladle, too,
On Will’s poor head play’d rattle, O.
She cried, You rogue, are you begun
To starve me here already, O?
Is this the vow you made to me,
To keep me like a lady, O?

But by my faith I'll let you know
I’m made o’ better metal, O,
Than to be starv’d by any sot,
Whilst I can give him battle, O.
She broke his shins, she tore his hair,
She made poor Will to wonder, O;
The pots and pans, and stools and chairs,
About his head did thunder, O!

Will was na us’d in sic a fray,
He ran out-by for shelter, O,
Cryin’, Curse upon the fatal day
That I to Kate was halter'd, O;
For had I ta’en a country maid,
Tho’ row’d up in her plaidie, O,
A richer man I wou’d ha’e been,
Than with the Glasgow lady, O.