Life and death of the piper of Kilbarchan or, The epitaph of Habbie Simpson

LIFE and DEATH OF THE piper of kilbarchan O R, The Epitaph of Habbie Simpson, Who on his Dron bore bonny Flags, He made His Cheeks as red as Crimson, And babed when he blew the Bags, Kilbarchan now may say alas ! Now all such pastime's quite away For she hath lost her game & gracs Sen Habbie's dead, Both Trixie and the Maiden-trace But what remeed ? He counted was a wall'd wight Man, For no Man can supply his place, And fiercely at,Foot-ball he ran ; Hab Simphon's dead, At every Game the gree he wan, For pith and speed Now who shall play the day it daws. The like of Habbie was not then, Or hunts up when the Cock he craws But now he's dead, Or who can for our Kirk Town Cause, stand us in stead? And then beside his valiant Acts. On Bag-pipes now no body blaws,. At Brydels he wan many placks. Sen Habbie's dead, He babbed ay behind Folks backs, And shook his Head, Or who shall cause our Shearers shear Now we want many merry Cracks Who will bend up the Brags of Weit? Sen Habbie's dead. Bring in the Bells or good play Meir, In time of need. He was convoyer of the bride, Hab Simpson could what needs you spear With Kittock hanging at his side, But now he's dead. About the Kirk he thought a pride the Ring to Lead So kindly to his Neighbour neist, But now she may go but a Guide At Beltan and Saint Barchans Feast. For Habbie's dead. He blew and then held up his Breast, as he were weid, ' So well's he keeped his Decorum; But now we need hot him arest ? And all the steps of Whip-meg Whip-meg morum, For Habbie's dead. He slew a man and waes me for him And bare the feed. At Fairs he playd before the Spear-men But yet the man wan Hame before him All gayly graithed in their Geer- men, and was not dead, steel Bonnets, Jacts and Swords so cleat Like any Bead. (then Ay when he play'd the Lasses leugh, Now who will play before such Weirmen . To see him toothless, old and reuch Sen Habbie's dead, He wan his Pipes beside Barcleugh withoutten dread, At Clark playes when he wont to come which after wan him Geat enough His Pipe play'd trimly to the Drum: But now he's dead. Like Bikes of bees he gatt it bum And turn his Reed Alas for him my heart is sare, Now all our Pipars my sing dum For of his Springs I got a Share, Sen Habbie's dead, At every play, Race, Feast and Fair, And at Horse-races many a day, We need not look for piping mair, Before the Black, the Brown and Gray Sen Habbie's dead, He gart his Pipe when he did play. Both Skirl and Skried: F I N I S