# The Book of Scottish Song/The Glasgow Fair

The Glasgow Fair.
[This ditty, descriptive of "The Humours of Glasgow Fair," was popular as a street song some twenty-five years ago. Old James Livingstone, the celebrated comic singer, brought it into repute. We can learn nothing of the author beyond that his name was Breckinridge, and that he was by trade a compositor.—The fair of Glasgow is held annually, and has been so from time immemorial, on the second week of July that includes a Monday.]
O, the sun frae the eastward was peeping, And braid through the winnocks did stare, When Willie cried—Tam, are ye 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; Fye, 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 himsel' snod, And a pint of milk brose he did worry, To mak' him mair teugh for the road: On his head his blue bannet 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 quean, Word gade that 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 thocht shame for to rue. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
The carles, fu' cadgie, sat cocking Upon their white nags and their brown, Wi' snuffing, and laughing, and joking, They soon cantered into the town; 'Twas there was the funning and sporting, Eh! lord what a swarm o' braw folk, Rowly-powly, wild beasts, wheel o' fortune, Sweetystan's, Maister Punch, and black Jock. Lilt te turan an uran, &c. ​Now Willock and Tain gayan bouzie, 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 theeked 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 aye 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 claes 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 are a gomeral, To mak' sic a won'er at that, D'ye na ken, you daft gowk, that' a mongrel, That's bred 'twixt a dog and a cat." Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
"See yon souple jaud how she's dancing, Wi' the white ruffled 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 have yet seen in the fair." "Her decent!" quo' Meg, "she's a limmer, Or, faith, she would never be there." Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Now Gibbie was wanting a toothfu', Says he, "I'm right tired o' the fun, D'ye think we'd be the waur o' a mouthfu' O gude nappy yill and a bun?" "Wi' a' my heart," Tam says, "I'm willing,— 'Tis best for to water the corn; By jing, I've a bonnie white shilling, And a saxpence that ne'er saw the morn." 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 ginge'bread play'd whistle, And knocked him down like a cow: Says Tam, "Wha did that, deil confound him— Fair play, let me win at the loon," And he whirled his stick round and round him, And swore like a very dragoon. Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
Then next for a house they gaed glow'ring, Whare they might get wetting their mou'. Says Meg, "Here's a house keeps a pouring, Wi' the sign o' the muckle black cow." "A cow!" quo' Jenny, "ye gawky! Preserve us! but ye've little skill, Did ye e'er see a hawky like that— Look again and ye'll see it's a bill." Lilt te turan an uran, &c.
But just as they darkened 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 pleugh." "Na faith," then says Gibbie, "we'se raither Gae dauner to auld Luckie Gunn's, For there I'm to meet wi' my faither. And auld uncle John 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 lie. 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 guffawing, 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 came 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 o' a drum, Syne they raise, and they capered 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 te turan an uran, &c.