MUCKLE MEAL POCK.
I am a sturdy beggar loon, weel kent the country through,
I have a crape for ilka corn, be it 'tales, meal, or oou,
A laugh for the lasses, tell the news, crack, or joke,
And that lets them ken o' my muckle meal pock.
You may think there is meal i'nt, but that you are far wrang
For I have cakes in't, and scones in't, and for cheese a
And whiles a bit tobacco, if I want a chew or smoke,
And I hid a' my fallings in my muckle meal pock.
But you maun keep your thumb upon't, it's a secret I'm
gaun to tell,
Away down in the bottom o't, I keep a wee bit still,
The farmers' wives they hae a drouth as weel as ither folk,
There's aye a wheel within a wheel in my muckle meal pock
I tak' the bits o' errands when I danner to the toun,
Lasses' parasols to mend, and whiles a pair o' shoon,
A handle o' a parritch pat, a pendulum for a clock,
And they a' find a place in my muckle meal pock.
I tak' eggs by the dozen, to the clachan or the toun,
I niffer them for pocks o' tea, and sugar, white and brown,
And whiles as many buns and baps as a baker's shop could
And they are a' stowed away in my muckle meal pock.
As lang as the loads pay me weel, I carna a prean
Be it bumbes ceps, 'tates graps, or lasses' crinolines,
What do you think a farmer said ? of course it was in joke,
Bring me up a rake o' coals in your muckle meal pock.
But you'll hear how I fared with my grasping and my greed,
The e'e, mair than the stomach, it was aye waur to feed,
I cram'd it, and sqneez'd it, till it was like to choke,
was scarcely fit to whaughle with my muckle meal pock.
When I cam' to therford where you cross the stapping stanes
I hitched it on my shouthers to rest my weary banes,
The string round the mouth, with the weight within it,
And out fell the harns o' my muckle meal pock.
I have laid away my meal pock, ance dear to my heart,
I hae gotten instead a cuddy and a cart,
I am a cadger and a carrier, and I rank wi' decent folk,
And a gentleman compared to the owner of a pock.
IRISH MOLLY, O.
As I walked out one morning all in the mouth of May,
I met a pretty Irish girl, and thus to her did say,
I put my hand into my pocket, as it happened so,
And pulled out a guinea to treat my Molly, O !
She is young, she is beautiful, she is the fairest o e I
The primrose of Ireland before my guinea goes,
And the only one that entices me is my Irish Molly, O.
I said my pretty fair maid, will you go along with me,
I will show you the straight way across the count y,
My parents would be angry if they should com to
They will lay all the blame to my Scotch laddie, O.
When Molly's own father he came for to know,
That she had been courted by a Scotch laddie, O ;
He sent for M'Donald and these words to him did say.
If you will court my daughter Mary, I will send her
Since Molly has deceived me all by her father's ways,
Through some lone woods and valleys it's there I'll
spend my days,
Like some poor forlorn pilgrim I will wander to and
It's all for the sake of my Irish Molly, O.
There is a rose in Ireland, I thought she would be
For to come to my funeral, I hope she will incline,
My body shall be ready by the dawning of the day,
It's all for the sake of my bonny Irish maid.
When that I'm buried, there is one thing more I crave,
To lay a marble tombstone at the head of my grave,
And on this marble tombstone a prayer shall be said,
That young M'Donald lies here for his bonny Irish
Come all you pretty fair maids a warning take by me,
Never build a nest at the top of any tree;
For the green leaves will wither and the root it will
The beauty of a fair maid will soon fade away.
JAMES KAY, GLASGOW.
PRICE ONE PENNY. 38
View Commentary | Download PDF Facsimile
Probable period of publication:
1840-1850 shelfmark: L.C.1270(006)
View larger image