Gipsy's Song

Here awhile we'll cease from roaming--
Pitch the tents among the broom--
Turn the asses on the common,
And enjoy the afternoon.

Merry shall we be to-day:
What is life devoid of pleasure?
Care from us keep far away,
While Mirth pursues his sprightly measure.

Place all things in decent order,
Budgets, boxes, mugger-ware,
And here encamp'd, on England's border,
We'll remain till Whitsun Fair.

Ease the brutes of panniers' load--
Let them browse among the heather;
Light a fire, and dress some food,
And frankly we shall feast together.

And ALLAN, thou shall screw thy drone,
And play up 'Maggie Lauder' sweetly,
Or 'Money Musk' or 'Dorrington,'
And we will frisk and foot it neatly.

CROWD gain'd applause for many a tune--
Few peer'd him in the High or Lawlan';
But neither he nor SANDY BROWN
Could trill a note like JEMMY ALLAN.

E'en BLAW-LOUD WILLY'S Border airs,
Nor gay nor daft could please the dancer;
But aye to Allan's lilts, at fairs,
The very feet themselves would answer.

Each lad shall take his fav'rite lass,
And dance with her till she be weary,
And warm her with the whisky glass,
And kiss and hug his nut-brown deary.

And when of mirth we've had our will,
Upon the sward love shall entwine us;
Our plighted vows we'll then fulfill,
Without a canting priest to join us.

And when we go our country rounds,
Some trinkets selling, fortunes telling--
Some tink'ring, cooping, casting spoons,
We'll still obtain the ready shilling.

Unto the farm-steads we can hie,
Whene'er our stock of food grows scanty,
And from the hen-roost, bin, or sty,
We'll aye get fresh supplies in plenty.

And when the shepherd goes to sleep,
And on the fell remains the flock,
We'll steal abroad among the sheep,
And take a choice one from the stock.

The clergy take the tenth of swine,
Potatoes, poultry, corn, and hay--
Why should not gipsies, when they dine,
Have a tithe-pig as well as they?

We wish not for great store of wealth,
Nor pomp, nor pride, nor costly dainty;
While blest with liberty and health,
And competence--then we have plenty.

Merry shall we be to-day:
What is life devoid of pleasure?
Care from us keep far away,
While Mirth pursues his sprightly measure.

H. R.

"They brought the piper, Sandy Brown,
Frae Jedburgh to Lochmaben town;
Though whaisling sair and broken down
Auld Sandy seem'd,
His chanter for a pleasing sound
Was still esteem'd."