The Gypsey’s Song.


O, haste ye, and come to our gate en’,1
And solder the stroup o’ my lady’s pan :2
My lord’s away to hunt the doe,3
Quo’ the winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.4


I ha’e a pan o’ my ain to clout,5
Before I can solder your lady’s stroup ;6
And ye maun bide, my mettle to blaw,7
My winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.8


Now, wad ye but leave your gay lady,9
And carry the tinkling tools wi’ me ;10
And lie on kilns, on clean ait straw,11
My winsome lass o’ Gallowa.”12


The fingers that starch my lady’s frills13
Never could carry your tinkling tools ;14
Ye’re pans wad grime my neck of snaw,15
Quo’ the winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.16


Her hair in hanks o’ gowden thread17
O’er her milky shoulders was loosely spread ;18
And her bonnie blue e’en blinked love below,19
My winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.20


I took her by the jimpy waist ;21
And her lips stood tempting to be kist ;22
But whether I kiss’d them well or no,23
Ye may ask the lass o’ Gallowa’.24


Now quat the grip, thou gypsey loon.25
Thou hast touzell’d me till my breath is
done ;
And my lady will fret frae bower to ha’,27
Quo’ the winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.28


Ye’ve coupit the soldering-pan, my lass,29
And ye have scaled my clinks o’ brass ;30
And my gude spoon caams ye’ve split in twa,31
My winsome lass o’ Gallowa’.32