I'M Tibby Fowler O' The Glen.

I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN.

I'M Tibby Fowler o' the glen, And nae great sight to see, sirs; But 'cause I'm rich, these plaguy men Will never let me be, sirs.

There's bonny Maggy o' the brae As gude as lass can be, sirs; But 'cause I'm rich these plaguy men Hae a' run wud for me, sirs.

There's Nabob Jock comes strutting ben, He thinks the day's his sin, sirs; But were he a' hung round wi' goud, He'd find himsel mista'en, sirs.

There's Wat aye tries to glowr and sigh That I may guess the cause, sirs; But Jenny-like I hate to spell Dumb Roger's hums and ha's, sirs.

There's grinning Pate laughs a' day through, The blithest lad ye'll see, sirs; But troth he laughs sae out o' place, He'd laugh gin I did die, sirs.

There's Sandy, he's sae fou o' lear, To talk wi' him is vain, sirs; For gin we a' should say 'twas fair, He'd prove that it did rain, sirs.

Then Jamie frets for good and ill, 'Bout sma' things makes a phrase, sirs; And fears and frets, and things o' nought Ding o'er his joyfu' days, sirs.

The priests and lawyers ding me dead, But gude kens wha's the best, sirs; And then comes in the soldier brave, And drums out a' the rest, sirs.

The country squire and city beau, I've had them on their knee, sirs; But weel I ken to goud they bow, And no to downright me, sirs.

Should like o' them come ilka day, They may wear out the knee, sirs; And grow to the ground as fast as a stane, But they shall ne'er get me, sirs.