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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.


Maggie Lauder

By Francis Semple

WHA wadna be in love

Wi’ bonnie Maggie Lauder?

A piper met her gaun to Fife,

And speired what was ’t they ca’d her.

Right scornfully she answered him,

“Begone, you hallanshaker!

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate!

My name is Maggie Lauder.”

“Maggie,” quo’ he, “and by my bags,

I ’m fidgin’ fain to see thee;

Sit down by me, my bonnie bird,

In troth I witma steer thee;

For I ’m a piper to my trade,

My name is Rob the Ranter;

The lasses loup as they were daft

When I blow up my chanter.”

“Piper,” quo’ Meg, “hae ye your bags,

Or is your drone in order?

If ye be Rob, I ’ve heard of you,—

Live you upo’ the Border?

The lasses a’, baith far and near,

Hae heard o’ Rob the Ranter;

I ’ll shake my foot with right gude-will,

Gif you ’ll blow up your chanter.”

Then to his bags he flew wi’ speed,

About the drone he twisted;

Meg up and walloped o’er the green,

For brawly could she frisk it.

“Weel done!” quo’ he. “Play up!” quo’ she.

“Weel bobbed,” quo’ Rob the Ranter;

“’T is worth my while to play indeed

When I hae sic a dancer.”

“Weel hae you played your part,” quo’ Meg;

“Your cheeks are like the crimson;

There ’s nane in Scotland plays sae weel

Since we lost Habbie Simpson.

I ’ve lived in Fife, baith maid and wife,

These ten years and a quarter;

Gin’ ye should come to Ansler Fair,

Speir ye for Maggie Lauder.”