Part 5

The bride's freens meet in her faither's ain hoose, An' sit, if tae sit there is room, An' wait till they hear the fiddler's lilt That speedily brings the bridegroom. The minister then the marriage begins-- As a rule he is tauld tae be brief-- An' quickly he ties them a knot wi' his tongue They never can loose wi' their teeth.

CHORUS.

An' then it's the grand procession that's formed; The best-man leads aff wi' the bride, While the bridegroom comes on at the tail o' the line Haudin' close tae the minister's side. The fiddler leads at a lively pace, An' clear frae his strings does he draw The bonnie sweet notes o' that auld-farrant tune, "Oh, it's woo'ed an' mairit an' a'."

CHORUS.

The procession maun halt at the bridegroom's new hoose While the bride gangs in tae admire; Then a ferl o' breed is thrown owre her heid, An' wi' the poker she steers up the fire. The procession moves on, an' the auld wifies cry, "Eh, sirs, but she's bonnie an' braw!" The fiddler's tune at this juncture is drooned By the company's hearty "Hurrah."

CHORUS.

A' the wey tae the Ha', whaur the supper is spread, They mairch tho' a mile an' mair; Auld Bacchus afore them aye beckons them on, For he's routh o' a' guid things there. When the supper is owre the minister speaks On the joys an' the sorrows o' life, Advises the bride tae be guid tae her man An' bridegroom tae be guid tae his wife.

CHORUS.

Then "Weel may we be, ill may we ne'er see," Is sung by the guests in accord; At the end o' the roon, wi' a thunderin' soun', They frichten the rats frae the board; They disperse for a wee tae meet later on Tae hae a nicht's pleesure an' fun, For there's naething like daffin' an' dancing ye ken, Tae drive dowie care tae the wun'.

CHORUS.

The fiddler tunes up an' rosins his bow, An' sooples his airm for the jinkin'; At the very first note that soons thro' the ha' The lads wi' the lassies come linkin'; The bride an' bridegroom lead aff the first dance, Weel pleased wi' ilk ither, I'm thinkin', While the auld yins that arena sae fleet o' the fit Gang canny awa' tae the drinkin'.

CHORUS.

The fun an' the daffin gang on withoot check Till the nicht's turned intae the mornin'; They've even been kent for tae haud at the dance Till the sun the hill-taps was adornin'. But if dreich is the dance, the drinkin' is waur; Never heard is the craw o' the cock; For as lang as there's drink an' the jollity guid It's nae easy maiter tae stop.

CHORUS.

"But the drink gangs dune afore the drooth," An' the herts o' the tipplers a' sadden, An' ilka yin noo maun fin' his wey hame, For that is the end o' the waddin'. Noo dinna ye think that they're gien tae the drink, An' tae honour they're no weel behaudin'; They're leal an' they're true, their marrows are few, Tho' they tak' a wee drap at a waddin'.

CHORUS.

THE THREE FISHERS.

At dawn of day we sped away On the path that skirts the mine hill-side, Whaur Elvan Burn, wi' mony a turn, Gangs singing tae the River Clyde.

"When lazy loons did lie an' snore An' dream the gowden dawn away We lap the burn at Greenshields' door, An' breisted bauld the Wungate brae."

Then owre the fence an' through the pass, That's cleft atween the Lowther hills, Whaur mountain air, sae pure an' rare, Blaws free frae Pedan's crystal rills.

Doon Pedan's vale straucht for Powtrail We gaed, an' in oor min's nae doot There was but what wi' flee or worm We'd land some bonnie speckled troot.

The sun shone bricht, oor herts were licht, We knew that we were better far Away frae city's din an' strife, Whaur Powtrail mingles wi' the Daur.

Three fishers keen as e'er were seen, Tae throw a line on loch or stream, Noo plied their rods wi' muckle skill, An' sune their creels began tae fill.

We fished the Annershy an' Squaw Frae noon weel on tae evenin' fa', Likewise Glenocher an' Glengeath, An' then we tramped across the heath,

Tae whaur the Toll Bar stood alane, Like oasis in a desert plain, Whaur weary fishers meet thegither, Tae rest or join the sang an' blether.

Like nectar was the landlord's cheer, Glenlivet, stout, an' reaming beer; But ere the drink could tak' oor brain We wisely took the road for hame.

Eicht lang Scots miles, an' uphill road, Besides o' fish a heavy load, We stauchert on wi' mony a grane, Vowing we'd ne'er gang back again.

But e'er a week its coorse had run, We thocht on naething but the fun We had on Clyde's clear sparklin' river, An' aff' we gaed as keen as ever.