Luyện nghe bài hát Five Carlins

Five
(Robert Burns)
There was five in the South,
They fell a scheme,
To a lad to London town,
To bring tidings hame.
Not only them tidings hame,
But do their errands
And aiblins gowd and baith
be that laddie's share.
There was by the banks o Nith,
A dame wi eneugh;
And o' the Monie Lochs,
A auld and teugh.
And Blinkin of Annandale,
dwelt near Solway-side;
And Brandy Jean, that her gill,
In sae wide.
And Joan, frae Crichton-Peel,
0' gipsy an kin:
Five wighter carlins were na
The South within.
To send a lad to town,
They met a day;
And monie a knight, and a laird,
This errand wad gae.
0, monie a knight, and a laird,
errand ain wad gae;
But nae ane their fancy please,
0, a ane but tway!
The ane was a belted Knight,
Bred of a band;
And he wad gae to Town,
nae man him withstand.
And he wad do errands weel,
And meikle he wad
And ane at London court
Wad bid to him Guid-day.
The neist cam in a youth
And spak wi' modest
And he wad to London Town,
If sae pleasure was
He wad na hecht courtly gifts,
Nor speech pretend;
But he wad hecht an heart
Wad desert his friend.-
Now wham to chuse, and refuse,
At strife thir Carlins
For had Gentle Folk to please,
And wad please themsel.-
up spak mim-mou'd Meg o'Nith,
And she up wi'pride,
And she wad the Sodger-lad
might betide.-
For the Gudeman o'London Court,
She didna a pin;
But she wad the Sodger-lad,
To his eldest son.-
Then Bess of Annandale,
A deadly aith taen,
she wad vote the Border-knight,
Tho' she should her lane.-
'For fowls hae feathers fair,
fools o' change are fain;
'But I hae this Border-knight,
try him yet again.
Says black Jan Crighton-peel,
A Carlin stoor and
"The Gudeman, or the Young Gudeman,
For me may or swim."
"For will prate o' Right and Wrang,
knaves laugh them to scorn;
But the Solder's friends hae the best,
So he bear the horn."
Brandy Jean spak o'er her drink,
Ye weel ken, a',
The Auld o'. London Court,
His back's at the wa':
And mony a that kiss'd his caup,
Is now a wight;
But ne'er be sae wi' Brandy Jean,
We'll the Border-knight.'
slaw rase Marjory o' the lochs,
And was her brow;
Her ancient was russet-grey,
Her auld Scots was true.-
There's some Folk set light by me,
I set as by them;
But I will send to town
Whom I best at hame.'-
So how this weighty may end,
Nae mortal can tell:
God grant the king, and man,
May weel to themsel.-
tune: Chase (269)
FIVECRLN
play.exe
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