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The Song Book 189
For I'm a piper to my trade,
My name is Rob the Ranter ; The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter."
" Piper," quo' Meg, "ha'e ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order ? If you be Rob, I've heard of you ;
Live you upo' the border? The lasses a', baith far and near,
Have heard of Rob the Ranter; I'll shake my foot wi' right good-will,
Gif you'll blaw up your chanter."
Then to his bags he flew with speed,
About the drone he twisted; Meg up, and wallop'd o'er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it. " Weel done," quo' he, " Play up," quo' she :
"Weelbobb'd," quo' Rob the Ranter; "It's worth my while to play indeed,
When I ha'e sic a dancer."
" Weel ha'e you play'd your part," quo' Meg,
" Your cheeks are like the crimson; There's nane in Scotland plays sae weel,
Since we lost Habby Simson. I've liv'd in Fife, baith maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter; Gin you should come to Anst'er fair,
Spier ye for Maggy Lauder."
Words by Francis Sempill, of Beltrees.
Tune Maggie Lauder, |
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