And braw Tibby Fowler, the heiress,
      Will perk at the top o’ the ha’,
    Encircled wi’ suitors, whase care is
      To catch up the gloves when they fa’. 
    Repeat a’ her jokes as they ’re cleckit,
      And haver and glower in her face,
    When tocherless Mays are negleckit—­
      A crying and scandalous case.

    And Mysie, whase clavering aunty
      Wad match her wi’ Jamie, the laird;
    And learns the young fouk to be vaunty,
      But neither to spin nor to caird. 
    And Andrew, whase granny is yearning
      To see him a clerical blade,
    Was sent to the college for learning,
      And cam’ back a coof, as he gaed.

    And there will be auld Widow Martin,
      That ca’s hersel’ thretty and twa! 
    And thrawn-gabbit Madge, wha for certain
      Was jilted by Hab o’ the Shaw. 
    And Elspy, the sewster, sae genty—­
      A pattern of havens and sense—­
    Will straik on her mittens sae dainty,
      And crack wi’ Mess John in the spence.

    And Angus, the seer o’ ferlies,
      That sits on the stane at his door,
    And tells about bogles, and mair lies
      Than tongue ever utter’d before. 
    And there will be Bauldy, the boaster,
      Sae ready wi’ hands and wi’ tongue;
    Proud Paty and silly Sam Foster,
      Wha quarrel wi’ auld and wi’ young.

    And Hugh, the town-writer, I ’m thinking,
      That trades in his lawyerly skill,
    Will egg on the fighting and drinking,
      To bring after grist to his mill. 
    And Maggie—­na, na! we ’ll be civil,
      And let the wee bridie abee;
    A vilipend tongue it is evil,
      And ne’er was encouraged by me.

    Then fy, let us a’ to the wedding,
      For they will be lilting there,
    Frae mony a far-distant ha’ding,
      The fun and the feasting to share. 
    For they will get sheep’s-head and haggis,
      And browst o’ the barley-mow;
    E’en he that comes latest and lagis
      May feast upon dainties enow.

    Veal florentines, in the o’en baken,
      Weel plenish’d wi’ raisins and fat;
    Beef, mutton, and chuckies, a’ taken
      Het reekin’ frae spit and frae pat. 
    And glasses (I trow ’tis nae said ill)
      To drink the young couple gude luck,
    Weel fill’d wi’ a braw beechen ladle,
      Frae punch-bowl as big as Dumbuck.

    And then will come dancing and daffing,
      And reelin’ and crossin’ o’ han’s,
    Till even auld Lucky is laughing,
      As back by the aumry she stan’s. 
    Sic bobbing, and flinging, and whirling,
      While fiddlers are making their din;
    And pipers are droning and skirling,
      As loud as the roar o’ the linn.

    Then fy, let us a’ to the wedding,
      For they will be lilting there;
    For Jock ’s to be married to Maggie,
      The lass wi’ the gowden hair.