Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/408

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The Strathspey of the Marchioness of Huntley.
 O' a' the rants, o' a' the reels,
That please the heart or pain the heels,
An' soak the sweat frae cheerfu' chiels,
   There's nane like Lady Huntley.

Aboon them a' it bears the charm,
Wi' raptures rare to work us warm,
When rosit rubs frae thrillin' thairm,
   The reel o' Lady Huntley.

This night to hand auld Yule we meet,
While cheerfu' cogs our weasands wect,
Baith heel and hoch sal sweel in sweat,
   Wi' dancin' Lady Huntley.

Sae glaiket fashion gang to France,
Wi' monkey-mensed Munseer to prance,
While we at hame delighted dance
   The reel o' Lady Huntley.

We're nane o' form or fashion's fules,
Wha strut their mirth to stated rules,
But hearty hame owre social souls,
   We'll loup to Lady Huntley.

The German waltz and French quadrille,
Wi' a' their scientific squeel,
Can never heat the heart and heel
   Like lively Lady Huntley.

Lat fiddler lads strike up the tune,
An' lat us scour our Sunda' shune,
Hech! I cud drive a dizen dune
   Wi' dancin' Lady Huntley.

Loup lads and lasses ilka ane,
O! fear na shin or shank to sprain,
Come, gi'es the hearty Come again,
   The reel o' Lady Huntley.

Ay heaven sal hae our warmest thanks,
Gm a' the folk by Bogie's banks,
Hae got guid shune and souple shanks,
   To loup to Lady Huntley.

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