| What wouldn’t it be in love
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| With bonnie Maggie Lauder?
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| A piper met her goin' to Fife
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| And speaked what people called her
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| Right scornfully she answered him
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| «Begone you howlin' shaker!
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| Jog on your way, you blatherskate!
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| My name is Maggie Lauder.»
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| «Maggie,» call he, «And by my bags
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| I’m fidgin' feign to see thee
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| «Sit down by me, my bonnie bird
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| And drawn, I wouldn’t austere thee;
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| «For I’m a piper to my trade:
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| My name is Rob the Ranter
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| «The lassies lept as they were daft
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| When I blow up my chanter.»
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| «Piper,» call Meg, «have you your bags
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| For is your drone in order?
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| «If you be Rob, I’ve heard of you
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| You live upon the border
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| «The lassies all, both far and near
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| Have heard of Rob the Ranter
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| «I'll shake my foot with right good will
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| If you’ll blow up your chanter!»
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| Then to his bags he flew with speed;
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| About the drone he twisted
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| Meg up and walloped o’er the green;
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| For brawley could she frisk it!
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| «Well done!» |
| quo he. |
| «Play up!» |
| said she
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| «Well bobbed!» |
| said Rob the Ranter
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| «'Tis worth my while to play, indeed
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| When I have such a dancer!»
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| «Well have you played your part,» call Meg
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| «Your cheeks are like the crimson
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| «There's ne’er in Scotland plays so well
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| Since we lost Habbie Simpson
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| «I've lived in Fife, both maid and wife
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| This ten years and a quarter
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| «If you should come to Anster fair
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| Speak 'ere for Maggie Lauder!» |