A track from the album of Robert Fergusson’s poem ‘Auld Reikie’

 

Now morn, wi’ bonny purple smiles,
Kisses the air-cock o’ St. Giles;
Rakin their ein, the servant lasses
Early begin their lies and clashes;

Ilk tells her friend o’ saddest distress,
That still she brooks frae scawling mistress,

And wi’ her joe in turnpike stair
She’d rather snuff the stinking air,
As be subjected to her tongue,
When justly censur’d i’ the wrong.

On stair wi’ tub, or pat in hand,
The barefoot housemaids loe to stand,

That antrin fock may ken how snell
Auld Reikie will at morning smell:
Then, with an inundation big as
The burn that ‘neath the Nor Loch brig is,

They kindly shower Edina’s roses,
To quicken and regale our noses.

Edina’s roses

Now some for this, wi’ satire’s leesh,
Hae gi’en auld Edinbrough a creesh:
But without souring nocht is sweet;
The morning smells that hail our street,

Prepare and gently lead the way
To simmer canty, braw and gay:

Edina’s roses

Edina’s sons mair eithly share
Her spices and her dainties rare,
Than he that’s never yet been call’d
Aff frae his plaidie or his fauld.

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