Then neist outspak a raucle carlin*, Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterlin'; For mony a pursie she had hooked, An' had in mony a well been douked: Her Love had been a _Highland laddie_, But weary fa' the waefu' woodie**! Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began, To wail her braw _John Highlandman_. AIR. _Tune_--O an ye were dead, Gudeman. I. A highland lad my love was born, The Lalland laws he held in scorn; But he still was faithfu' to his clan, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman!_ CHORUS. _Sing hey my braw John Highlandman! Sing ho my brazo John Highlandman! There's not a lad in a' the lan' Was match for my John Highlandman!_ * A sturdy raw-boned dame. ** The gallows. II. With his philibeg an' tartan plaid, An' guid claymore down by his side, The ladies' hearts he did trepan, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman._ _Sing, hey, &c._ III. We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay; For a lalland face he feared none, My gallant, braw _John Highlandman._ _Sing, hey, &c._ IV. They banish'd him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, Embracing my _John Highlandman._ _Sing, hey, &c._ V. But och! they catch'd him at the last, And bound him in a dungeon fast; My curse upon them every one, They've hang'd my braw _John Highlandman._ _Sing, hey, &c._ VI. And now a widow I must mourn, Departed joys that ne'er return; No comfort but a hearty can, When I think on _John Highlandman._ _Sing, hey, &c._ RECITATIVO. A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, Wha us'd to trystes and fairs to driddle. Her strappen limb an' gausy middle, (He reach'd na higher,) Had hol'd his heartie like a riddle, An' blawn't on fire. W' hand on hainch, an' upward e'e, He croon'd his gamut, _one, two, three,_ Then in an arioso key, The wee Apollo Set off wi' _allegretto_ glee His _giga solo._ AIR. _Tune_--Whistle owre the lave o't. Let me ryke up to dight that tear, An' go wi' me an' be my dear; An' then your every _care_ and _fear_ May whistle owre the lave o't. CHORUS. _I am fidler to my trade, An' at the tunes that e'er I play'd, The sweetest still to wife or maid, Was, whistle owre the lave o't._ At kirns an' weddins we'se be there, An' O sae nicely's we will fare! We'll bowse about till Dadie Care Sing whistle owre the lave o't. _I am, &c._