Her skin like snawy drift,

Sae white that day.

Quoth she, “I ferly unco sair,

That ye sud musand gae,

Ye wha hae sung o’ Hallow-fair,

“Her winter pranks and plays;

Whan on Leith-sands the racers rare,

Wi’ jockey louns are met,

Their orro pennies there to ware,

And drown themsel’s in debt

Fu’ deep that day”.

An wha are ye my winsome dear,

That takes the gate sae early?

Whare do ye win, gin ane may spear,

For I right meikle ferly,

That sic braw buskit laughing lass

Thir bonny blinks shou’d gie,

An’ loup like Hebe o’er the grass,

As wanton and as free

Frae dule this day?

“I dwall among the caller springs

That weet the Land o’ Cakes,

And aften tune my canty strings

At bridals and late-wakes.

They ca’ me Mirth; Ine’er was kend

To grumble or look sour,

But blythe wad be a lift to lend,

Gin ye wad sey my pow’r

An’ pith this day”.

A bargain be’t, and, by my fegs,

Gif ye will be my mate,

Wi’ you I’ll screw the cherry pegs;

Ye shanna find me blate;

We’ll reel and ramble through the sands,

An’ jeer wi’ a’ we meet;

Nor hip the daft an’ gleesome bands

That fill Edina’s street

Sae thrang this day.

Ere servant maids had wont to rise

To seeth the breakfast kettle,

Ilk dame her brawest ribbons tries,

To put her on her mettle,

Wi’ wiles some silly chiel to trap

(An’ troth he’s fain to get her,)

But she’ll craw kniefly in his crap,

Whan, wow! he canna flit her

Frae hame that day.

Now mony a sca’d and bare-ars’d lown

Rise early to their wark,

Eneugh to fley a muckle town,

Wi’ dinsome squeel an’ bark:

“Here is the true an’ faithfu’ list

O’ noblemen an’ horses;

Their eild, their weight, their height, their grist,

That rin for plates or purses

Fu’ fleet this day”.

To whisky plooks that brunt for wooks

On town-guard soldiers faces,

Their barber bauld his whittle crooks

An’ scrapes them for the races:

Their stumps erst us’d to filipegs,

Are dight in spatterdashes,

Whase barkent hides scarce fend their legs

Frae weet an’ weary plashes

O’ dirt that day.

“Come, hafe a care” (the Captain cries),

“On guns your bagnets thraw;

Now mind your manual exercise,

And marsh down raw by raw”.

And as they march he’ll glowr about,

Tent a’ their cuts and scars;

‘Mang them fell mony a gausy snout

Has gusht in birth-day wars,

Wi’ blude that day.

Her nanesel maun be carefu’ now,

Nor maun she be misleard,

Sin baxter lads hae seal’d a vow

To skelp an’ clout the guard;

I’m sure Auld Reikie kens o’ nane

That would be sorry at it,

Tho’ they should dearly pay the kane,

An’ get their tails weel sautit

An’ sair thir days.

The tinkler billies i’ the Bow

Are now less eident clinking,

As langs their pith or siller dow,

They’re daffin and they’re drinking.

Bedown Leith-walk what bourochs reel

O’ ilka trade and station,

That gar their wives an’ childer feel

Toom wames for their libation

O’ drink thir days.

The browster wives thegither harl

A’ trash that they can fa’ on;

They rake the grunds o’ ilka barrel,

To profit by the lawen:

For weel wat they a skin leal het

For drinking needs nae hire;

At drumly gear they tak nae pet;

Foul water slockens fire,

And druth thir days.

They say ill ale has been the deid

O’ mony a beirdly lown;

Then dinna gape like gleds wi’ greed

To sweel hail bickers down;

Gin Lord send mony ane the morn,

They’ll ban fu’ sair the time