Broadside entitled 'Original Songs by John Pettigrew'

Transcription

ORIGINAL SONGS       BY JOHN PETTIGREW

Who is troubled with Bronchitis and               unable to follow his lawful employment.
SOLD    ONLY    BY    THE    AUTHOR.

AULD BAILIE SNAP.

WRITTEN BY JOHN PETTIGREW.
AIR.?" The Bonnie Wee Window."

There is auld Bailie Snap he does reign in the east,
Wi' a braw gowden chain hanging over his breest;
Every coort mornin' he looks owre his crap,
And laughs at the drunk yins does auld Bailie Snap.

CHORUS.
Oh, for he's the reviewer of every ill doer,
Ye needna tell him ye've been takin' a drap ;
For like an auld miller he grasps at the siller,
There's few can get favour frae auld Bailie Snap.

The ither coort mornin' when daun'ering alang,
Richt into the coort-house I happened tae gang,
Whaur mony a chappie dejectedly sat,
And waited for justice frae auld Bailie Snap.

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

Then the Bailie cam' in wi' a grand polished air,
And sat himsel' doon on a braw cushioned chair ;
Adjusting eye-glass he gied a bit rap -
" Bring forth the first case, noo," said auld Bailie Snap.
Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

The first was a woman, baith tatter'd an' frail,
Wha telt to the coort a most pitiful tale.
Said the judge, "You were drunk, so you'll just be as we
To rest you five days in 'The Temperance Hotel.' ''

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

The next was a labourer ca'd Patrick Muldoon,
Was charged wi' disturbing the hauf o' the toon.
Says the judge, " It's five guineas, or else, my fine man,
You can whistle ' The Blackbird' in the Royal Van."

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

Twa callans for mischief were charged baith the same,
Though evidence showed that yin wasna tae blame;
" If ye didna ocht, ye were there wi' the pack,
So your fined in five shillings," said auld Bailie Snap.

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

The last was a weaver wi' lantern jaw,
Pled guilty to trying to haud up a wa';
He hadna got funds, so the judge did declare,
He could gang up to Duke Street an' prap the wa's there.

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

Sae lang may the Bailie still reign on the Bench,
A terror to every man, woman, and wench ;
But when he is gaun for to tak' his last nap,
May they find a warm corner for auld Bailie Snap.

Oh, for he's the reviewer, &c.

MY BONNIE DARK-EYED DEARIE.

Words by John Pettigrew.   Music by T. S. Gleadhill,

Glasgow.
Oh, the sun has set an' gloamin' grey

Hangs owre the earth sae dreary,
The paitricks cry while on my way

To meet my dark-eyed dearie.
The angry wind amang the trees

Keeps sooching, sad, and eerie,

But what care I though cauld's the breeze

When gaun to see my dearie.

CHOrUS.
Oh, for Maggie's artless, young, and fair,

Sae mensfu', kind, and cheery ;
Through life 'twill be my only care

To lo'e my dark-eyed dearie.
Young Maggie wears nae pridefu' air,

Nor heart that's fause an' hollow;
Her modest ways and virtues rare,

A' ither maids micht follow.
Wi' such a lassie for a wife
Nae man could ever weary,
She'll cheer me through the vale o' life,

My bonnie dark-eyed dearie.

Oh, for Maggie's artless, &c.

ANCIENT    STIRLING.

Written by John Pettigrew.   Sung, with Immense Success,
by Hamilton Corbett.

AIR. - " The Standard on the Braes o' Mar."

Let minstrels sing of sparkling wine,

In verses high and skirling ;
Let lovers praise their maidens fine,

I'll sing of ancient Stirling.
Whaur Wallace bold, in days of old,

His faithful band he did command,

And Southern foemen couldna stand

The Scottish steel at Stirling.

King Edward did oor thistle spurn,

An' cam' to Scotland whirling,
But when he cam' to Bannockburn

It jagg'd his thooms near Stirling.
For valiant Bruce, sae slee an' crouse,
The English armies did reduce,
And Scotland's independence gained

That day near ancient Stirling.

When queenly simmer comes to reign,

An' sends king winter birling,
She seems to mak' the place her ain,

Sic braws she gies to Stirling.
When fragrant flowers au' scented thorn,
The bonnie vales an' glens adorn,

Hoo sweet upon a simmer's thorn,

To walk roon' classic Stirling.
But noo a secret I will tell,

Nor roon' the bush gang whirling,

One modest flower that I lo'e well,
Blooms sweet in ancient Stirling.

Her form sae fair, her smile sae rare,
Her daisy face sae fu' o' grace,

Her winning ways my heart ensnare,
And mak' me cling to Stirling.

LEAVING THEE FOR EVER.

Words by John Pettigrew.   Music by Albert E. Hampson,
Edgely Villa, Southport, England.

I leave thee, dear, with scorn,

Nor treat thee, dear, with scorn,
But could I dream so fair a flower

Would ever nurse a thorn ?
I loved thee with that ardent flame,

Unqueuched by lake or river;

I love thee, maiden, still the same,

Though leaving thee for ever.

Leaving thee, yes, leaving thee,
Leaving thee for ever.

When shrubs and flowerets were in bloom

We lovingly would rove,
Where hawthorn lent its sweet perfume

A-down the scented grove;
Or when some sylvan nook we sought

By Clutha's winding river,
Could I then entertain the thought

Of leaving thee for ever.

Leaving thee, &c.

Ah, no! my heart was still with thee,

Thou cheeredst each cloudy hour ;
By night or day thou wert to me

Like dewdrops to the flower.
But false deceit and rival's pride

Command that we should sever;
May powers above thy footsteps guide,

False maid, adieu, for ever.

Leaving thee, &c.

NOTICE TO THE PUBLIC. - I am the only one of this name who has written for the Scotch or English Press, either in prose or
rhyme. A Sketch of my Life may be seen at the Mitchell Library, Ingram Street, Glasgow - See " Our Modern Scottish Poets," vol. v.
page .35. A poem in my own hand-writing may be seen in the National Burns' Monument, Kilmarnock. I have been acknowledged by
the Scotch, English, and Irish Press, and I have been the winner of some Handsome Prizes. I was also instrumental in bringing out
some of our Comic Singers with such songs as "The Lads that were reared amang the Heather," "Sandy Sourkail's Wedding,"
"Jeemie, Rin Doon to your Uncle's," "Peggy is the Lass can wear the Breeks," and fifty other favourite songs; but in the hour of
adversity the Vocalists have turned the cold shoulder to me, therefore I ask the general public to kindly patronize your humble Servant,

JOHN PETTIGREW.

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR ONLY AT THE MINERVA PRINTING WORKS, 80 LONDON STREET, GLASGOW

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