[Sung at a concert in the Black Bull Inn Hall, Kirkintilloch, May 14th, 1850.] Air - " Calder Fair " or " Cockie Bendie. " There's mony an unco up an' doun In thae times that we leeve in. There's changes in this very toun In mae things than the weavin' ; 'Tis thranger set, 'tis wider roun', 'Tis higher in the air, man, Sin' first I cam' a beardless clown Tae Kirkintilloch fair, man. Leuk up an' see oor weathercock That faces up the storm, man; Observe the motion o' oor clock, An' hear the bell inform, man; The spire that hauds them up tae view, Tae gi'e them mair effect, man, Ha'e in their turns been counted new Sin' I can recolleck, man. At changin' o' the winter moons Our streets were dark at nicht, man, An' bodies gaun nocturnal roun's, Gat mony a time a fricht, man; But noo, whane'er the moon's awa' Gae thro' oor streets at een, man, The lamps a' shinin' in a raw, Ye'll see tae lift a preen, man. The Saturdays, as they do still, Cam' this way aince a week, man, An' market comers coft their gill Weel flavour't wi' peat reek, man ; The pawky merchants waited on The thrifty wives for yarn, man, An' wabsters pace't athort the loan Wi' oxterfu's o' harn, man. A lint-seed Saturday, I min', Was maist as guid's a fair, man, As scores o' dealers in the line Wi' guinea notes were there, man; The Riga brought the better price, New Englan' whiles was blate, man, An' caps o' gill for richt advice Were snappet doun-'e-gaet, man. But whaur's the lint-seed merchant now? A sicht o' ane is rare, man, The month o' March gaes bye, I trou, An' no a barrel there, man. A spinnin' wheel on the floor-head Is countet something odd, man, The stuff that fills the weaver's reed Comes in frae far abroad, man. The chaps wha selt the lint in stricks, An' coft the yarn in hanks, man, Were feckly forc't tae gang an' mix Amang some ither ranks, man; An' aye the price o' weavin' fell, Till pouches wou'dna chuck, man, An' thousan's had a tale tae tell About the want o' luck, man. But trade again is gettin' spunk, The price o' meal is easy, An' feelin hearts, in poortith sunk, Ha'e got a hearty heezie. We've wark tae keep us in our place, Bring in a groat to ware, man, An' meet a frien' wi' better grace At kirkintilloch fair, man. Oor concert's wearin' tae an en', The programme is complete, man. The leddies noo, an' gentlemen, May up and shake their feet, man, We're leukin' for a merry ball, Oor music doth excel, man, An' I've a min', altho' I'm aul', Tae try a reel mysel', man.
The Village of Chryston - North Lanarkshire - Scotland
Walter Watson
The Chryston Poet