Wha wad na be in love
Wi’ bonny Maggie Lauder?
A piper met her gaun to Fife,
And speir’d what was’t they ca’d her.
Right scornfully she answer’d him,
‘Begone, you hallanshaker,
Jog on your gate, you bladderskate,
My name is Maggie Lauder.’
‘Maggie,’ quoth he, ‘and by my bags,
I’m fidging fain to see thee:
Sit down by me, my bonny bird,
In troth I winna steer thee:
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,’ quoth Meg, ‘hae you your bags,
Or is your drone in order?
If you be Rob, I’ve heard o’ you;
Live you upo’ the Border?
The lasses a’, baith far and near,
Have heard o’ Rob the Ranter;
I’ll shake my foot wi’ right goodwill,
Gif you’ll blaw up your chanter.’
Then to his bags he flew wi’ speed,
About the drone he twisted;
Meg up and wallop’d o’er the green,
For brawly could she frisk it.
‘Weel done,’ quoth he: ‘Play up,’ quoth she:
‘Weel bobbed,’ quoth Rob the Ranter;
‘ ‘Tis worth my while to play indeed,
When I hae sic a dancer.’
‘Weel hae ye play’d your part,’ quoth Meg,
‘Your cheeks are like the crimson;
There’s nane in Scotland plays sae weel
Since we lost Habbie Simson.
I’ve liv’d in Fife, bath maid and wife,
These ten years and a quarter;
Gin you should come to Enster Fair,
Speir ye for Maggie Lauder.’