I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN. Susanna Blamire Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Blamire, Susanna, 1747-1794. The Poetical Works of Miss Susanna Blamire “The muse of Cumberland.” Now for the first time collected by Henry Lonsdale, M.D. with a preface, memoir, and notes by Patrick Maxwell, ... Edinburgh John Menzies, 61 Princes Street; R. Tyas, London; D. Robertson, Glasgow; and C. Thurnam, Carlisle. MDCCCXLII. 1842 pp. 230-231.

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I'M TIBBY FOWLER O' THE GLEN . I'M Tibby Fowler o' the glen , And nae great sight to see , sirs ; But 'cause I'm rich , these plaguy men Will never let me be , sirs . There's bonny Maggy o' the brae As gude as lass can be , sirs ; But 'cause I'm rich these plaguy men Hae a' run wud for me , sirs . There's Nabob Jock comes strutting ben , He thinks the day's his sin , sirs ; But were he a' hung round wi' goud , He'd find himsel mista'en , sirs . There's Wat aye tries to glowr and sigh That I may guess the cause , sirs ; But Jenny-like I hate to spell Dumb Roger's hums and ha's , sirs . There's grinning Pate laughs a' day through , The blithest lad ye'll see , sirs ; But troth he laughs sae out o' place , He'd laugh gin I did die , sirs . There's Sandy , he's sae fou o' lear , To talk wi' him is vain , sirs ; For gin we a' should say 'twas fair , He'd prove that it did rain , sirs . Then Jamie frets for good and ill , 'Bout sma' things makes a phrase , sirs ; And fears and frets , and things o' nought Ding o'er his joyfu' days , sirs . The priests and lawyers ding me dead , But gude kens wha's the best , sirs ; And then comes in the soldier brave , And drums out a' the rest , sirs . The country squire and city beau , I've had them on their knee , sirs ; But weel I ken to goud they bow , And no to downright me , sirs . Should like o' them come ilka day , They may wear out the knee , sirs ; And grow to the ground as fast as a stane , But they shall ne'er get me , sirs .