The frosty night, and the keenness of the stars, made
Mr Cupples shiver. Alec was in a feverous glow. When they reached home,
Mr Cupples went straight to the cupboard, swallowed a glass of the
_merum_, put coals on the fire, drew his chair close to it, and said:
"It's dooms cauld! Sit doon there, bantam. Pit on the kettle first.
It's an ac' o' the purest disinteresstitness, for deil a drap sall ye
drink! But I'll sing ye a sang, by way o' upmak'."
"I never heard ye sing, Mr Cupples. Ye can do a' thing, I think."
"I cudna gar a bonnie, high-born, white-handit leddy fa' in love wi' a
puir futteret (weasel) o' a crater--a shargar (scrag) like Cosmo
Cupples, bantam. But I can do twa or three things; an' ane o' them is,
I can mak' a sang; and anither is, I can mak' a tune till't; and a
third is, I can sing the tane to the tither, that is whan I haena had
either ower muckle or ower little o' the tappit hen. Noo, heark ye.
This ane's a' my ain:
GAEIN' AND COMIN'.
Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed,
The lift was lowerin' dreary;
The sun he wadna lift his heid;
The win' blew laich and eerie.
In's pouch he had a plack or twa,
I vow he hadna mony;
Yet Andrew like a lintie sang,
For Lizzie was sae bonny!
O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonnie lassie!
Bonnie, saucy hizzie!
What richt had ye to luik at me,
And drive me daft and dizzy?
Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam',
The sun was shinin' rarely;
He rade a horse that pranced and sprang--
I vow he sat him fairly.
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