HERRING, MACKEREL, AND OYSTER. 167 The tap loops wi' his fingers he grippit wi' ease; Then he marched through the house, he marched but, he marched ben, Like ower mony mair o' our great little men, But mid a' his daffin sic kindness he shows, When bodies ha'e got ae bit bairn o' their ain, How he cheers up their hearts-he's the wonderfu' wean ! THE HERRING, THE MACKEREL, AND THE OYSTER. THE herring loves the merry moonlight, The mackerel loves the wind; But the oyster loves the dredging song, For he comes of a gentle kind, The laverock and the lark, The baukie and the bat, The heather bleet, the mire snipe, KATHARINE NIPSY. A PLAY TO BE PERFORMED WITH THE FINGERS. SCENE: A house-door, represented by the first and third fingers of the right hand, brought as close together as possible (the hand being turned so as to have the back down). THE ROBBER (represented by the second finger) outside the door; within are THE LADY (represented by the thumb), and KATHARINE NIPSY, her servant (represented by the little finger). ROBBER knocks at the door. LADY: Who's that knocking at my door, Katharine Nipsy? KATH. NIPSY: Wha's that chapping at my leddie's door? ROBBER: A poor friar, a poor friar. KATH. NIPSY: It's a puir friar, my leddie. The door parts in two, and the robber ROBBER: Your servant, madam! your servant, madam! The play here suddenly terminates, the speaker of the dialogue adding, in a low fearful voice, And he worried them a'! WILLIE WINKIE. WILLIE WINKIE. BY PERMISSION OF MR. D. ROBERTSON, GLASGOW. WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, 171 "Are the weans in their bed, for it's now ten o'clock ?" Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye coming ben? The cat's singing grey thrums to the sleeping hen; The dog's spelder'd on the floor, and disna gi'e a cheep, And here's a waukrife laddie! that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, you rogue! glow'ring like the moon, Rattling in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon; Rumbling, tumbling, round about, crawing like a cock, Skirling like a kenna-what, wauk'ning sleeping folk. Hey, Willie Winkie-the wean's in a creel! Wambling aff a body's knee like a very eel; Rugging at the cat's lug, and raveling a' her thrums Hey, Willie Winkie-see, there he comes! |