THE CANTING AULD KIMMER.

Thames Star, Volume XV, Issue 4979, 24 December 1884, Page 1

THE CANTING AULD KIMMER.

[a song.] [From " Songs and Miscellaneous Poems, by William Cross, author of the 'Disruption'"—a brilliant little volume published by Jles?r3 Kerr & Richardson, Glasgow.] " How happy a wife am I," In her pride said a canting auld kimmor, "To think that my dochter's to lie In a pious man's bossom gin Bummer. We'll a' sing thegither, We'll a' rejoice thegither, That sic a bricht saint's to become In our family a son and a blither. " I'm tauld he's a stoop o' the kirk, And has riches baith here and in Zion ; And the hingings are turk-npon-tnrk, 0' the bed that my dochtor's to lie on. We'll a' be gude theigither, TTe"n a," Wgffituu cuegnner, Hech! winna a godly gudeson Gree weel wi' a godly gudemither! " He is clad in the garments o' faith; His speeritual man—for his body In buskit wi' bonnie braid claith, And he often comes here in a noddy. We'll a' pray thegither. We'll a' be earnest thegither, That the gentlemen never may gang A bellwayering after anither. v " It's true that a weel-behaved lad Has got the begunk' frae my dochter; But how was the bargain to hand, When a far grander gentleman socht her We'll abe grand thegither, We'll a' flee up thegither, How proud I'll be hearing the folk Saying, there goes the grand lady's mither. " Douce Davit's a man o' his word, A vera respectable creatur; But a braw house and gooseberry yaird, To refuse them is no human nature. We've a' agreet thegither, / The aunties, and faither and mither, To swap the puir chiel for a laird; And Lizzie, she ne'er had a swither. " The letters between them that pass'd, The best thing to do is to burn them j And his presents to her first and last It wadna be kind to return them. We a' think thegither The twa may cry clear wi' ilk ither For in locks o' her hair the has mair Than wad make a braw wig to her faither. " His bread has a bakit to be, The never a farl is ready; He might as well offer to flee As to make ony woman a lady. It's a stuff thegither, Blawfum and nonsense thegither, The think that the saft tow o' love Can ever do weel for a tether. " But Lizzie to fortune was born, The plough has been aye coming till her: And brawly she kens chaff frae corn, As weel as the caws or the miller. We'll all a' thrive thegither; We'll a' colleague thegither; Sic a prospect o' gudeness and gear Wad make ony head light as a feather. *' It behoves us a' hooly to walk, The fu' cup's no easily carried; And Lizzie maun bridle her talk, And keep hersel' mim till she's married. We'll a' keep wheesht thegither, We'll a' be close gabbit thegither; If some neighbours stood in our shoon, Preserve us a 5 how they wad blether!"