The Jolly Beggars: A Cantata（2 / 2）

set off wi' allegretto glee

his giga solo.

air

tune—“whistle owre the lave o't.”

let me ryke up to dight that tear,

an' go wi' me an' be my dear;

an' then your every care an' fear

may whistle owre the lave o't.

chorus

i am a fiddler to my trade,

an' a' the tunes that e'er i played,

the sweetest still to wife or maid,

was whistle owre the lave o't.

at kirns an' weddins we'se be there,

an' o sae nicely's we will fare!

we'll bowse about till daddie care

sing whistle owre the lave o't.

i am, c.

sae merrily's the banes we'll pyke,

an' sun oursel's about the dyke;

an' at our leisure, when ye like,

we'll whistle owre the lave o't.

i am, c.

but bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms,

an' while i kittle hair on thairms,

hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms,

may whistle owre the lave o't.

i am, c.

recitativo

her charms had struck a sturdy caird,

as weel as poor gut-scraper;

he taks the fiddler by the beard,

an' draws a roosty rapier—

he swoor, by a' was swearing worth,

to speet him like a pliver,

unless he would from that time forth

relinquish her for ever.

wi' ghastly e'e poor tweedle-dee

upon his hunkers bended,

an' pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,

an' so the quarrel ended.

but tho' his little heart did grieve

when round the tinkler prest her,

he feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,

when thus the caird address'd her:

air

tune—“clout the cauldron.”

my bonie lass, i work in brass,

a tinkler is my station:

i've travell'd round all christian ground

in this my occupation;

i've taen the gold, an' been enrolled

in many a noble squadron;

but vain they search'd when off i march'd

to go an' clout the cauldron.

i've taen the gold, c.

despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,

with a' his noise an' cap'rin;

an' take a share with those that bear

the budget and the apron!

and by that stowp! my faith an' houp,

and by that dear kilbaigie,

if e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,

may i ne'er weet my craigie.

and by that stowp, c.

recitativo

the caird prevail'd—th' unblushing fair

in his embraces sunk;

partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,

an' partly she was drunk:

sir violino, with an air

that show'd a man o' spunk,

wish'd unison between the pair,

an' made the bottle clunk

to their health that night.

but hurchin cupid shot a shaft,

that play'd a dame a shavie—

the fiddler rak'd her, fore and aft,

behint the chicken cavie.

her lord, a wight of homer's craft,

tho' limpin wi' the spavie,

he hirpl'd up, an' lap like daft,

an' shor'd them dainty davie.

o' boot that night.

he was a care-defying blade

as ever bacchus listed!

tho' fortune sair upon him laid,

his heart, she ever miss'd it.

he had no wish but—to be glad,

nor want but—when he thirsted;

he hated nought but—to be sad,

an' thus the muse suggested

his sang that night.

air

tune—“for a' that, an' a' that.”

i am a bard of no regard,

wi' gentle folks an' a' that;

but homer-like, the glowrin byke,

frae town to town i draw that.

chorus

for a' that, an' a' that,

an' twice as muckle's a' that;

i've lost but ane, i've twa behin',

i've wife eneugh for a' that.

i never drank the muses' stank,

castalia's burn, an' a' that;

but there it streams an' richly reams,

my helicon i ca' that.

for a' that, c.

great love idbear to a' the fair,

their humble slave an' a' that;

but lordly will, i hold it still

a mortal sin to thraw that.

for a' that, c.

in raptures sweet, this hour we meet,

wi' mutual love an' a' that;

but for how lang the flie may stang,

let inclination law that.

for a' that, c.

their tricks an' craft hae put me daft,

they've taen me in, an' a' that;

but clear your decks, and here's—“the sex!”

i like the jads for a' that.

chorus

for a' that, an' a' that,

an' twice as muckle's a' that;

my dearest bluid, to do them guid,

they're welcome till't for a' that.

recitativo

so sang the bard—and nansie's wa's

shook with a thunder of applause,

re-echo'd from each mouth!

they toom'd their pocks, they pawn'd their duds,

they scarcely left to co'er their fuds,

to quench their lowin drouth:

then owre again, the jovial thrang

the poet did request

to lowse his pack an' wale a sang,

a ballad o' the best;

he rising, rejoicing,

between his twa deborahs,

looks round him, an' found them

impatient for the chorus.

air

tune—“jolly mortals, fill your glasses.”

see the smoking bowl before us,

mark our jovial ragged ring!

round and round take up the chorus,

and in raptures let us sing—

chorus

a fig for those by law protected!

liberty's a glorious feast!

courts for cowards were erected,

churches built to please the priest.

what is title, what is treasure,

what is reputation's care?

if we lead a life of pleasure,

'tis no matter how or where!

a fig for, c.

with the ready trick and fable,

round we wander all the day;

and at night in barn or stable,

hug our doxies on the hay.

a fig for, c.

does the train-attended carriage

thro' the country lighter rove?

does the sober bed of marriage

witness brighter scenes of love?

a fig for, c.

life is al a variorum,

we regard not how it goes;

let them cant about decorum,

who have character to lose.

a fig for, c.

here's to budgets, bags and wallets!

here's to all the wandering train.

here's our ragged brats and callets,

one and all cry out, amen!

chorus

a fig for those by law protected!

liberty's a glorious feast!

courts for cowards were erected,

churches built to please the priest.