When a child, an old woman sung it to
me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing.
"O Willy, weel I mind, I lent you my hand
To sing you a song which you did me command;
But my memory's so bad I had almost forgot
That you called it the gear and the blaithrie o't.--
I'll not sing about confusion, delusion or pride,
I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.--
Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on,
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;
I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock,
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.--
Tho' we hae nae horses or menzies at command,
We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand;
And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot,
And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.--
If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent;
Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content;
For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins bu groat,
Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't--
I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs of the kirk or the queen;
They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim;
On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it stil remote,
Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't.
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