# Humours of Glasgow fair (1)/Humours of Glasgow Fair

SONGS.
THE HUMOURS OF GLASGOW FAIR.
O, the sun frae the eastward was peeping, And braid through the winnocks did stare, When Willie cried, Tam, are you sleeping, Mak haste, man, and rise to the fair; For the lads and the lasses are thranging, And a’ body’s now in a steer; Fve, haste ye, and let us be ganging, Or, faith, we’ll be langsome, I fear. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then Tam he got up in a hurry, And wow but he made himself snod, For a pint o’ milk brose he did worry. To mak him mair teugh for the road. On his head his blue bonnet he slippet, His whip o’er his shouther he flang, And a clumsy oak cudgel he grippet, On purpose the loons for to bang. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now Willock had trysted wi’ Jenny, For she was a braw canty queen, Word gade she had a gay penny, For whilk Willie fondly did grean. ​Now Tam he was blaming the liquor, Yae night he had got himsel' fou, And trysted gleed Maggy MacVicar, And, faith, he thought shame for to rue. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
The carles fu’ codgie sat cockin’ Upon their white nags and their brown, Wi’ snuffing, and laughing, and joking, They soon canter’d into the town; 'Twas there was the funning and sporting, Eh! what a swarm o’ braw folk, Rowly powly, wild beasts, wheel o’ fortune, Sweety stan’s, Master Punch, and Black Jock. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now Willock and Tam, gayan bouzy, By this time had met wi’ their joes, Consented wi' Gibbie and Susy To gang awa down to the shows. ’Twas there was the fiddling and drumming, Sic a crowd they could scarcely get through, Fiddles, trumpets, and organs a-bumming, O sirs, what a hully baloo. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then hie to the tents at the paling, Weel theekit wi’ blankets and mats. And deals seated round like a tap-room Supported on stanes and on pats. ​The whisky like water they’re selling, And porter as sma’ as their yill, And ay as you’re pouring, they’re telling, Troth, dear, it’s just sixpence the gill. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Says Meg, see yon beast wi’ the taes on’t, Wi’ the face o’t as black as the soot, Preserve’s, it has fingers and taes on’t,— Eh, lass, it’s an unco like brute. O woman, but ye aro a gomeral, To mak sic a won'er at that, D’ye no ken, daft gouk, that’s a mangrel, That’s bred ’twixt a dog and a cat. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
See you supple jade how she’s dancing, Wi’ the white ruffi’d breeks and red shoon, Frae tap to the tae she’s a’ glancing Wi’ gowd, and a feather aboon. My troth, she’s a braw decent kimmer As I’ve yet seen in the fair; Her decent, quo’ Meg, she’s some limmer, Or faith sho would never be there. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Before they got out o the bustle, Poor Tam got his fairing, I trow, For a stick at the ging’bread play’d whistle, And knock’d him down like a cow; ​Says Tam, wha did that, de’il confound him, Fair play, let me win at the loon, And he whirl’d his stick round and round him, And swore like a very dragoon. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then next for a house they gade glow’ring. Whare they might get wetting their mou', Says Meg—here’s a house keeps a pouring, At the sign o’ the muckle black cow. A cow, quo’ Jenny, ye gawky, Preserve us, but ye’ve little skill, Ye haveral, did ye e’er see hawky Like that, look again and ye’ll see it’s a bull. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
But just as they darken’d the entry, Says Willie, we’re now far eneugh, I see it’s a house for the gentry, Let’s gang to the sign o’ the Plough. Na, faith, says Gibbie, we’se better Gae dauner to auld Luckie Gunn’s, For there I'm to meet wi’ my father, And auld uncle Jock o’ the whins. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now they a’ in Luckie’s had landed, Twa rounds at the bicker to try, The whisky and yill round was handed, And baps in great bourocks did he; ​Blind Aleck the fiddler was trysted, And he was to handle the bow, On a big barrel head he was hoisted, To keep himsel’ out o’ the row. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Had ye seen sic a din and gafaaing, Sic hooching and dancing was there, Sic rugging, and riving, and drawing, Was ne’er seen before in a fair. For Tam, he wi’ Maggy was wheeling, And he gied sic a terrible loup, That his head cam a thump on the ceiling, And he cam down wi’ a dump on his doup. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now they ate and they drank till their bellies Were bent like the head of a drum, Syne they raise and they caper’d like fillies, Whene’er that the fiddle play'd bum. Wi’ dancing they now were grown weary. And scarcely were able to stan’, So they took to the road a’ fu’ cheery, As day was beginning to dawn. Lilt to turan an uran, &c.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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