Dance Jenny's Bawbee 3236

There's your plack, and my plack,  
And your plack and my plack,  
And my plack and your plack,  
And Jenny's bawbie.  
**Chorus**  
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,  
My Jenny had, my Jenny had,  
And a' that e'er my Jenny had,  
Was ae bawbie.

We'll put it a' in the pint-stoup,  
The pint-stoup, the pint-stoup,  
We'll put it a' in the pint-stoup,  
And birl't a' three.

This old, anonymous song comes from David Herd's *Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs*
published in 1776.
The air was long a favourite dance tune.

Sir Alexander Boswell of Auchinleck (1775–1822), son of James Boswell,
tried his hand at writing new verses to the old tune.

I met four chaps yon birks amang,  
Wi' hinging lugs and faces lang;  
I speer'd at neebour Bauldy Strang,  
   Wha's they I see?  
Quo' he, ilk cream-fac'd pawky chiel  
Thought he was cunning as the deil,  
And here they cam awa to steal  
   Jenny's bawbee.

The first, a captain to his trade,  
Wi' skull ill-lin'd, but back weel clad,  
March'd round the barn and by the shed,  
   And pap'd on his knee;  
Quo' he, “My goddess, nymph and queen,  
Your beauty's dazzled baith my een!”  
But deil a beauty had he seen  
   But Jenny's bawbee.

A lawyer neist, wi' bletherin' gab,  
Wha speeches wove like ony wab,  
In ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,  
   And a' for a fee.  
Accounts he ow'd through a' the toun,  
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown,  
But now he thoucht to clout his gown  
   Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A Norland Laird neist trotted up,  
Wi' bawsand naig and siller whup,  
Cried “There's my beast, lad, hauld the grup,  
   Or tie't till a tree;  
What's gowd to me? – I've waith o' lan'!  
Bestow on ane o 'worth your han'!” –  
He thocht to pay what he was *awn*  
   Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

Drest up just like the knave o' clubs,  
A THING came neist, (but life has rubs)  
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,  
   And jaupit a' was he.  
He danc'd up, squinting thro' a glass  
And grinn'd, “I' faith a bonnie lad!”  
He thought to win, wi front o' brass,  
   Jenny's bawbee.

She bade the Laird gae kame his wig,  
The Sodger no to strut sae big,  
The Lawyer no to be a prig,  
   The fool, he cried, “Tehee!  
I kenn'd that I could never fail!”  
But she preen'd the dishclout to his tail,  
And soused him wi' the water-pail,  
   And kept her bawbee.

An additional verse was added by Allan Cunningham (1784–1842).

Then Johnnie cam', a lad o' sense,  
Although he had na mony pence;  
And took young Jenny to the spence,  
   Wi' her to crack a wee.  
Now Johnnie was a clever chiel,  
And here his suit he pressed sae weel,  
That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,  
   And she birled her bawbee.