Inglis Collection of printed music > Printed music > Composite music volumes containing different issues of Thomson's octavo collection of the songs of Burns and Sir Walter Scott > Volumes 1-2 > Select melodies of Scotland, interspersed with those of Ireland and Wales

20
SCORNFUL NANSIE.
WITH NEW VERSES,
HERE FIRST UNITED TO THE MUSIC, 1825.
I never said thy face was fair,
Thy cheek with beauty glowing ;
Nor whisper'd that thy woodland air
With grace was overflowing.
I never said thy teeth so white,
In hue were snow excelling ;
Nor call'd thine eye so blue, so bright,
Young Love's celestial dwelling.
I never said, that gentle breast
Contain'd a gen'rous spirit,
Or that the youth were doubly blest,
Who those soft smiles could merit.
I never said, to young or old,
I felt no joy without thee :
No, Nansie,' no — I never told —
A single lie about thee.
I never said thy voice was soft,
Soft heart but ill concealing ;
Nor praised thy sparkling glance, so oft,
So well thy thoughts revealing.
I never said thy taper form
Was, Nansie, more than handsome :
Nor said thy heart, so young, so warm,
Was worth a monarch's ransom.
THE OLD SONG TO THE SAME AIR.
This is one of the very pleasant songs of the olden time, which has come down to us hy means of Allan Ramsay, in whose
Tea- Table Miscellany it first appeared. Willy's account of his own descent, contrasted with that of Souple Sandy, his
rival, who had passed his infancy on his mother's back as a mendicant, is highly comic and natural. The humour of
the whole song, indeed, is lively, characteristic, and amusing ; but lest it be thought by some rather homely for the
modern drawingroom, the Editor has given the above little song for the choice of the Singer.
Nansie's to the greenwood gane,
To hear the gowdspinks chatt'ring,
And Willy he has followed her,
To gain her love by flatt'ring ;
But a' that he could say or do,
She geck'd and scorned at him ;
And aye when he began to woo,
She bade him mind wha gat him.
' What ails you at my dad,' quoth he,
' My minnie, or my aunty ?
With crowdy-moudy they fed me,
Lang kail and ranty-tanty ;
With bannocks of good barleymeal,
Of thae there was right plenty,
W T ith chapped castocks butter'd weel,
And was not that right dainty ?
' Altho' my father was nae laird, —
'Tis daftin' to be vaunty, —
He keepit aye a good kail-yard,
A ha' house and a pantry ;
A good blue bonnet on his head,
An owrlay 'bout his craigy ;
And aye, until the day he died,
He rade on gude shanks' nagy.'
" Now, wae and wonder on your snout,
Wad ye hae bonny Nansie ?
Wad ye compare yoursel' to me ? —
A docken .till a tansy ?
vol. n.
I hae a wooer of my ain,
They ca' him Souple Sandy,
And weel I wat his bonny mou'
Is sweet like sugar-candy."
' Wow, Nansie, what needs a' this din ?
Do I not ken this Sandy ?
I'm sure the chief of a' his kin
Was Rab the beggar randy ;
His minnie, Meg, upon her back
Bare baith him and his billy :
Will ye compare a nasty pack
To me, your winsome Willy ?
' My gutcher left a guid braidsword,
/Tho' it be auld and rusty,
Yet ye may tak it on my word,
It is baith stout and trusty ;
And if I can but get it drawn,
Which will be right uneasy,
I shall lay baith my lugs in pawn,
That he shall get a heezy.'
Then Nansie turn'd her round about,
And said, " Did Sandy hear ye,
Ye wadna miss to get a clout,
I ken he disna fear ye :
Sae haud your tongue, and say nae mair,
Set somewhere else your fancy ;
For as lang's Sandy's to the fore,
Ye never shall get Nansie."