Album Summary: William Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius (1725) was a landmark publication; the first ever large-scale collection of "Scotch Songs" in print — 50 songs arranged with un-figured bass, most with lyrics from Allan Ramsay's Scots Songs and Tea-Table Miscellany, plus an appendix of melodic reductions. It was an instant hit and in 1733, expanded into 2 volumes with 100 songs. Indeed, Thomson's Orpheus set the standard format for Scots Song settings for the rest of the eighteenth century, including those of Robert Burns in The Scots Musical Museum. This ScotMus.com album is a faithful reprint of the song arrangements from the historic 1st edition of 1725.
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(2)
What ails ye at my Dad, quoth he,
My Minny or my Aunty, With Crowdy Mowdy they fed me, Lang Kail and Ranty Taunty. With Bannocks of good Barly Meal, Of thae there was right Plenty, With chapped Stocks fou butter'd well, And was not that right dainty. |
(3)
Altho my Father was nae Laird,
'Tis Dafine to be vaunty, He keepit ay a good Kail Yard, A Ha' House and a Pantrie. A good blew Bonnet on his Head, An Owrlay 'bout his Cragy, And ay until the Day he died, He rade on good Shanks Nagy. |
(4)
Now Wae and wander on your Snout,
Wad ye ha'e bony Nansy, Wad ye compare ye'r sell to me, A Docken till a Tansie. I have a Woer of my ain, They ca' him souple Sandy, And well I wat his bony Mou' Is sweet like Sucker Candy. |
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(5)
Wow Nansy what needs a' this Din,
Do I not ken this Sandy, I'm sure the Chief of a' his Kin, Was Rab the Beggar Randy. His Minny Meg upo' her Back, Bare baith him and his Billy; Will ye compare a nasty Pack To me your winsome Willy. |
(6)
My Gutcher left a good braid Sword,
Tho' it be auld and rusty, Yet ye may take it on my word, It is baith stout and trusty; And if I can but get it drawn, Which will be right uneasy, I shall lay baith my Lugs in Pawn, That he shall get a Heezy. |
(7)
Then Nansy turn'd her round about,
And said did Sandy hear ye, Ye wadna miss to get a Clout, I ken he disna fear ye. Sae had ye're Tongue and say nae mair, Set some where else your Fancy; For as lang's Sandy's to the fore, Ye never shall get Nansy. |