Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Scottish songs > Volume 2

334
THE BRISK YOUNG LAD.
Tune — Bung your eye in the morning.
There cam a young man to my daddie's door,
My daddie's door, my daddie's door ;
There cam a young man to my daddie's door,
Cam seeking me to woo.
And wow ! but he was a braw young lad,
A brisk young lad, and a braw young lad ;
And wow ! but he was a braw young lad,
Cam seeking me to woo.
But I was baking when he came.
When he came, when he came ;
I took him in and gied him a scone,
To thowe his frozen mou.
I set him in aside the bink ;
I gae him bread and ale to drink ;
And ne'er a blythe styme wad he blink,
Until his wame was fou.
following aneddote will perhaps be held as testifying, in no inconsiderable
degree, to a quality which she may not hitherto have been supposed to
possesi — her wit.
It is generally known, that Mrs Burns has, ever since her husband's
death, occupied exactly the same house in Dumfries, which she inhabited
before that event, and that it is customary for strangers, who happen to
pass through or visit the town, to pay their respects to her, with or without
letters of introduction, precisely as they do to the churchyard, the bridge,
the harbour, or any other public object of curiosity about the place. A
gay young English gentleman one day visited Mrs Burns, and after he had
seen all that she had to show — the bedroom in which the poet died, his ori-
ginal portrait by Nasmyth, his family-bible, with the names and birth-days
of himself, his wife, and children, written on a blank-leaf by his own hand,
and some other little trifles of the same nature— he proceeded to intreat
that she would have the kindness to present him with some relic of the
poet, which he might carry away with him, as a wonder, to show in his
own country. " Indeed, sir," said Mrs Burns, •' I have given away so
many relics of Mr Burns, that, to tell ye the truth, I have not one left."— >
" Oh, you must surely have something," said the persevering Saxon;
" any thing will do— any little scrap of his handwriting— the least thing
you please. All I want is fust a relic of the poet ; and any thing, you
know, will do for a relic." Some further altercation took place, the lady
reasserting that she had no relic to give, and he as repeatedly renewing his
request. At length, fairly tired out with the man's importunities, Mrs
Burns said to him, with a smile, " 'Deed, sir, unless ye tak mysell, then,
I dinna see how you are to get what you want ; for, really, I'm the only
relic o* him that I ken o'." The petitioner at once withdrew his request.