THE WILLIAM R. PERKINS LIBRARY OF DUKE UNIVERSITY Rare Books Burns' PRerry FRuses A CHOICE COLLECTION OP RAVeURITE 80NGS. Say, Puritan, can it be wrong, to dress plain truth in witty song? What honest Nature says we should do; What evry lady does,— or would do. PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. EDINBURGH: 188.'". Limited to 200 Copies, of which this is fio..i7^d.::. _. B^tc^l rA INDEX DF CDNTENTS. A PAGE. As I came o'er tlie Cairney mount, .... 19 As honest Jacob on a night, 27 Altho' my back be at the wa', 2^ As Sylvia on her arm reclining, .... 50 As a crab-louse and flea were ahunting together, , . 67 A beautiful lady, in fair London town, ... 75 A lovely lass to a friar came, 82 B Blythe, blythe, blythe was she, 52 Beneath a weeping willow's shade, .... 114 Brimful of love fat Lydy sat, 115 c Comin' o'er the hills o' Coupar, 38 Come prick up your ears and attend, sirs, awhile, . 98 D PAGE. Dinner o'er and grace said, 4 Duncan Macleerie, and Janet, his wife, ... 45 Disguis'd last niglit, I rush'd from home, . . . 104 F For London, when with fav'ring gale, ... 73 G Gudewife, when your gudeman's frae hame, . . 25 Gat ye me, O gat ye me, . . . . . . 53 I I once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, . . 20 1 rede ye beware o' the ripples, young man, . . 30 111 Edinbrugh town they've made a law, ... 81 I'll tell ye a tale o' a wife, 36 I, a tender young maid, . . . i . . 79 I wonder, quoth dame, as her spouse she embraces, 90 I'll trip upon trenchers, I'll dance upon dishes, . . 94 I can't for my life guess the cause of this fuss, . 116 I sing the British fair one's charms, .... 119 J Jenny sits up i' the laft, 39 John Thompson keekit in at the kej'hole, ... 94 L Let the philosophic wise, Let him, fond of fibbing, FACE. 58 87 M My auntie Jean held to the shore. My Sally is the blythest maid, . Maggy lives on yon ha' head. 24 70 73 N Not far from town, a country squire, Nancy, on a sofa lying, . 47 o O! saw ye my Maggy, O yon, yon, yon lassie, O wha my baby clouts will buy, . O ere yestreen I stented graith, . O Errock stane, may never maid, . Our bride flate, an' our bride flang, . O wha'U kiss me now, my Jo, O will ye speak at our town, One winter's night, in am'rous mood, O can ye labour lee, young man. 2 17 18 22 23 41 42 48 49 54 O gie the lass her fairin', lad, One day at her toilet, as Venus began, O lassie, ai't thou sleeping yet, PAGE. 56 89 95 Put butter in my Donald's brose, Puff'd up \vi' pride, (that's sure to fall,) Papilio, the rich, in the hurry of love, 26 60 102 R Roseberry to his lady says, 11 The modieTvark has done me ill, The ploughman he's a bonie lad, . The bonie lass o' Liviston, There lir'd a lady in Lauderdale, . There liVd a wile in "Wliistlecockpen, There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, They took me to the haly band, Twa neebour wives sat i' the sun. There cam a cadger out o' Fife, 'Twas on a sweet May morning, . The boniest lass that ye meet neist, . The marriage morn I can't forget. The night her silent sable wore, 10 12 32 83 35 46 47 55 58 63 92 100 105 PAGE_ The taylor came to clout the chaise, .... 107 The maid's gane to the mill by night, . . . 109 The coach arriv'd, impatient all, 113 w When princes and prelates, ..... 7 Whilst others to thy bosom rise, 14 When maukin bucks at early , .... 40 We'll hide the cooper behind the door, ... 57 When Fanny, blooming fair, 83 Whenever Chloe, I begin, ...... 84 Who has e'er been at Holborn, 121 Y Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, . . . . . 1 You jovial boys, who love the joys, .... 9 Ye coopers and hoopers, attend to my ditty, . . 18 Ye hae lain wrang, lassie, 34 Ye botanists yield, I've discovered a root, ... 62 Ye delicate lovelies, with leave, I maintain, . . 85 Ye sons of Anacreon, assist me in song, ... 97 .The Merry Mubes..^ ANNA. Tune — The Banks of Banna. Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, n A place where body saw na'; Yestreen hiy on this breast o' mine, The raven locks of Anna: The hungry Jew, in wilderness. Rejoicing o'er his manna, Was naething to my hinny bliss. Upon the lips of Anna. Ye monarchs tak' the East and west, Frae Indus to Savannah; Gie me within my straining grasp, The melting form of Anna: Then I'll despise imperial charms. An empress or sultana; While dying raptures, in her arms, I give an' take with Anna. — 2 — Awa thou flaunting God of Day! Awa thou pale Diana! Ilk starn gae hide thy twinkling ray When I'm to meet my Anna. Come in thy raven plumage, Night, Sun, moon, and stars "withdrawn a'! An' bring an angel-pen, to write My transports wi' my Anna. POSTSCKIPT. The kirk and state may join an' tell; To do sic things I manna: The kirk an' state may gae to h-1. An' I'll gae to my Anna. She is the sunshine o' my e'e, To live but her I canna; Had I on earth but wishes three, The first should be my Anna. O, SAW YE MY MAGGY. Tune — Saw Ye Na My Peggy. O saw ye my Maggy, O saw ye my Maggy, O saw ye my Maggy, Comin' o'er the lee? 3 — What mark lias your Maggy, What mark has your Maggy, What mark has youi- Maggy, That tJCAe jtn&y ken her fee? My, ]\[aggy has .a mark, You'll find it in the dark; It's in helow her sark, A little aboon her knee. What wealth has your Maggy, What wealth has your Maggy, What v/ealth has your Maggy, In tocher, gear, or fee? My JVIaggy has a treasure, A hidden mine o' pleasure, I'll howk it at my leisure. It's a' alane for me. How meet ye your Maggy, How meet ye your Maggy, How meet ye your Maggy, When nane's to hear or see? E'en that tell our wishes. Eager glowing kisses. Then diviner blisses. In holy ecstacy! — 4 — How looe ye your Maggy, How looe ye your Maggy, How looe ye your litaggy. And looe nane but she? Heav'nly joys before me! Rapture trembling o'er me! Maggy, I adore thee On my bended knee. THE TOASTS. Dinner o'er, and' grace said, we'll for bus'ness prepare, Arrang'd right and left in support of the chair; "We'll chorus the song as the circling toast passes. And manage our bumpers as musical glasses. To your lips, my convivials, the burgundy lift. May we never want courage when put to the shift; Here's what tars dislike, and lassies like best; What's that ? ybu may whisper ; why, 'tis to be prest. Ye fowlers, who eager at partridges aim, Don't mark the maim'd covey, but mind better game; ' Tis beauty's the sport to repay sportsmen's trouble. And there may your pointers stand stiff in the stubble. To game we give laws, and game laws we have skill in: Here's love's laws, and they who those laws are fulflllin'; 5 — But never may damsels demur to our sport. Nor we suffer non-suits when call'd into court. Like the Indians when warring, our game we must flush. On our breasts as we lie, we present thro' the bush; Here's the nest in that bush, and the bird-nesting lover; Here's Middlesex bush-fighting, rest and recover. Asthmatical lovers exist but to eat; They purchase repletions at each turtle treat; Our feasts boast a flavour, unknown to made dishes; Here's life's dainty, dressed up with the sweet sauce of kisses. Fair befall ev'ry lass, fair may fine ladies fall, No colour I'll fix on, but drink to them all: The black, the brunette, and the golden-lock'd dame, The lock of all lock, and unlocking the same. More upright foreknowledge that lock is commanding, Than all other locks, or Locke's Understanding; That lock has the casket of Cupid within it: So here's to the key, lads — the critical minute. Lads, pour forth libations from bottles and bowls: The mother of all-saints should be drunk by all souls; Here's to the downbed of beauty, whicli ivpralses man, And beneath the thatc'd house, the miraculous cann. Here's the dockyard that furnishes Great Britain's fleets. The l)Ookbinder's wife manufacturing in sheets; The brown female reaper, who dares undertake her. And the wife of Will Wattle, the neat basker-maker. Here's Beersheba's cockpit, where David stood sentry; Eve's custom-house, where Adam made the first entry; Here's the pleasant-plac'd waterfall 'midst Bushy park; The nick makes the tail stand, the farrier's wife's mark. That the hungry be filled with rich tilings, let us say, And well pleas'd may the rich be sent empty away; Here's the miller's wife's music; the lass that's lamb-like. And the fence of the farmer, on the top of love's dyke. But why from this roundabout phrase must be guess'd, What in one single syllable's better express'd; That syllable, then, I my sentiment call. So here's to the word which is one word for all. POOR BODIES DO NAETHING BUT M-W. Tune — Tlie CamphelU are Comin'. When princes and prelates, An' hot-headed zealates, A' Europe had set in a low, a low; The poor man lies down, Nor envies a crown, ^ But comforts himsel' wi' a m-w, a m-w. An' why shou'd na poor bodies m-w, m-w, m-w. An' why shou'd na poor bodies m-w; The rich then hae siller, an' houses, an' land. Poor bodies hae naething but m-w. When P — s — k's great prince Gade a cruizin to France, Republican billies to cow, cow, cow; Great B — s— k's Strang prince Wadda shawn better sense. At hame wi' his prin — ss to m-w, m-w, m-w. An' why, &c. The E — b — r swore, By sea an' by shore, At Paris to kick up a row, a row; But Paris, ay ready, Just leugh at the laddie, An' bade him gae hame, an' gae m-w, mw, m-w. An' why, &c. When the brave duke of Y — k. The Rhine first did pass, Republican armies to cow, cow, cow, They bade him gae hame. To his P — ss — n dame, An' gie her a kiss an' a m-w, a m-w. An' why, »fcc. But over the Rhine, Proud P — ss-a did shine, To spend his last bluid he did vow, vow, vow; But F— d ck had better Ne'er forded the water. But spent as he dought at a m-w, a m-w. An' why, &c. The black-headed eagle. As keen as a beagle. He hunted o'er height an' o'er howe, ho we, howe; In the braes of Gemap, He fell in a trap. E'en let him come out as he dow, dow, dow. Ah' why, &c. . — 9 — Tlien fill up your glasses, Ye sons 'o Parnassus, This toast I 'am sure you'll allow, allow; Here's Geordie our king, And Charlotte his queen. And lang may they live for to m-w, m-w, m-w. An' why, &c. THE FORNICATOR. Tune — Clout the Cauldron. You jovial boys, who love the joys, The blessfu' joys of lovers; An' dare avow't wi' dauntless brow, Whate'er the lass discovers; I pray draw near, an' you shall hear. An' welcome in a frater, I've lately been on quarantine, A proven fornicator. Before the congregation wide, I past the muster fairly; My handsome Betsey by my side. We gat our ditty rarely. My downcast eye, by chance did spy, What made my mouth to water, — 10 — Those limbs sae clean, where I between, Commenced fornicator. Wi' ruefu' face an' signs o' gi'ace, I paid the buttock hire; The night was dark, an' thro' the park, I cou'dna but convoy her. A pai'tiug kiss, what cou'd I less, My vows becan to scatter; Sweet Betsey fell, fal lal de ral; . . I am a fornicator. But, by the sun an' moon I swear, An' I'll fulfil ilk hair o't. That while I own a single crown, She's welcome to a share o't. My roguish boy, his mother's joj''. An' darling of his 'pater, I for his sake the name will take, A harden'd fornicator. THE MODIEWARK. Tune — For Ane an' Twenty Tarn. The modiewark has done me ill. An' below my apron has biggit a hill; I maun consult some learned dark About this wanton modiewark. — 11 An' o the wanton modiewark; The weary wanton modiewark; I maun consult some learned dark, About this wanton modiewark. O first it gat between my taes, Out o'er my garter niest it gaes; At lenght it crap below my sark, The weary wanton modiewark. An' o, &c. This modiewark, tho' it bo blin', If ance the nose o't you lat in. Then to the hilts, within a crack, Its out o' sight, the modiewark. An' o, &c. "When Marjorie was made a bride, An' Willy lay down by her side; Syne nocht was hard, when a' was dark, But kicking at the modiewark. An' o, &c. SUPPER IS NA READY. Tune — Clout the Cauldron. Roseberry to his lady says, "My hinnie and my succor, — 12 — "O shall we do the thing you ken? "Or shall we take our supper?" Fal, lal, &c. Wi' modest face, sae fu' o' grace, Reply'd the bonnie lady, "My noble lord, do as ye please, "But supper is na ready." Fal, lal, &c. THE PLOUGHMAN. The ploughman he's a bonnie lad, His mind is ever true, Jo; His garters knit below his knee, His bonnet it is blue, Jo. Sing up wi't a', the ploughman lad, And hey the merry ploughman; O' a' the trades that I do ken. Commend me to the ploughman. As wakin' forth upon a day, I met a jolly ploughman; I told him I had lands to plough, If that he wad prove true, man. Sing, &c. — 13 — He says, my dear, tak ye nae fear, I'll fit you till a hair, Jo; I'll cleave it up, and hit it down, And water- t'urrow't fair, Jo. Sing, &c. I hae three ousen in my pleugh. Three better ne'r plough'd ground, Jo, The formost ox is plump and sma', The twa are plump and round, Jo. Sing, &c. Then he wi' speed did yoke his pleugh, Which by » gaud was driven, Jo; But when he was atween the stilts, I thought I was in heaven, Jo. Sing, &c. But the foremost ox fell in the fur, The tither two did founder; The ploughman lad he breathless grew, In trowth, it was nae wonder. Sing, &c. But a sykie risk, below a hill. The plough she took a stane, Jo, 14 — Which gart the fire flee frae tlie sock, The plowman gied a grane, Jo. Sing, &c. I hae plough'd east, I liae plougli'd west, In weather foul and fair, Jo; Bnt the fairest ploughing e'er I plough'd, "Was ploughing amang hair, Jo. Sing, &c. Sing up wi'd a', and in wi't a'. And hey my merry ploughman; O' a' the trades and crafts I ken, Commend me to the plcmghman. Sing, &c. THE BOV/ER OF BLISS. Tim's— Logcm Water. Whilst others to thy bosom rise, And paint the glories of thine eyes, Or bid thy lips and cheeks disclose, The unfading bloom of Eden's rose; Less obvious charms my song inspire, Which felt, not fear'd, we most admire. Less obvious charms, not less divine, I sing that lovely bower of thine, — 15 — Rich gems ^vorth India's wealth alone, How much pursued, how little known; Tho' rough its face, tho' dim its hue, It foils the lustre of Peru. The vet'ran siich a prize to gain, 3Iight all the toils of war sustain; The devotee forsakes his shrine. To venerate that bower of thine. When the stung heart feels keen desire, And thro' each vein pours liquid fire; When, with flush'd cheeks and burning eyes. Thy lover to thy bosom flies; Believe, dear maid, believe my vow. By Venus' self, I swear, tis true; More bright thy higher beauties shine, Illiim'd by that strange bower of thine. What thought sublime, what lofty strain. Its wondrous virtues can explain? No place, howe'er remote, can be From its intense attraction free; Tho' more elastic far than steel. Its force ten thousand needles feel; Pleas'd their high temper to resign, In that magnetic bower of thine. — 16 — Irriguous vale, embroAvn'd with shades "Wliich no obtrusive storm pervades; Soft clime, where native summer glows, And nectar'd living current flows! Not Tempe's vale, rcnov»-ned of j^ore, Of charms could boast such endless store; More than elysian sweets combine To grace that smiling bower of thine. O ! may no rash invaders stain. Love's warm sequester 'd virgin fane! For me alone let gentle fate Preserve the dear august retreat! Along its banks when shall I sray? Its beauteous landscape when survey? How long in fruitless anguish pine? Nor view unveil'd that bower of thine. O ! let my tender, trembling hand. The awful gate of life expand! With all its wonders feast my sight; Dear prelude to immense delight! Till plimg'd in liquid joy profound. The dark unfathom'd deep I sound; All panting on thy breast recline. And, murmuring, bless that bower of thine. — 17 — YON, YON, YON LASSIE. Tune — Ruffian's Sunt. yon, yon, yon lassie, Ton, yon, yon ; 1 never met a bonie lassie. But what wad play at you. O yon, yon, &c. I never saw a silken gown, But I wad kiss the sleeve o't ; I never saw a maidenhead, That I wad spier the leave o't. O yon, yon, &c. Tell nae me o' Meg my wife, That crowdie has nae savour ; But gie to me a bonie lass, An' let me steal the favour. O yon, yon, &c. Gie me her I kis't yestreen, I vow but she was handsome. For ilka briss upon her , "Was worth a royal ransom. An' yon, yon, yon lassie, Yon, yon, yon ; I never saw a bonie lass, But what wad play at you. — 18 — THE RANTIN' DOG, THE DAD- DIE O'T. Tvi^E—East Nook o' Fife. O wlia my babie clouts will buy ? O wha will tent me when I cry ? O wha will kiss me whare I lie, But the rantin' dog, the daddie o't ? O wha will own he did the faut ? O wha will buy the groanin' maut? O wha will tell me how to ca't. But the rantin' dog, the daddie o't? An' when I mount the creepie chair, O wha will sit beside me there ? Just gie me Rab, I ask nae mair, But the rantin' dog, the daddie o't. O wha will crack to me my lane ? An' wha will mak me fidgin' fain? O wha will kiss me o'er again, But the rantin' dog, the daddie o't? THE COOPER O' DUNDEE. Tune — Bonny Dundee. Ye coopers and hoopers attend to my ditty, I sing o' a cooper wha dwelt in Dundee ; This young man he was baith am'rous and witty. He pleas'd the fair maids wi' a blink o' his ee. — 19 — He was nae a cooper, a common tub-hooper, The most o' his trade lay in pleasin' the fair ; He hoop't them, he coop't them, he bor't them, he plug't them, An' a' sent for sandie when out o' repair. For a twelvemonth or sac this youth was rcspectit, An' he was as busie as weel he could be ; But liis bis'ness increas'd sae, that some were neglectit, Which ruin'd his trade in the town o' Dundee. A baillie's fair daughter had wanted a coopin', And sandie was sent for, as oft times was he ; He yerk'd her sae hard, that she sprung an end-hoopin', Which banis'd poor sandie frae bonny Dundee. THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. As I cam o'r the Cairney mount, Down amang the blooming heather, The highland laddie drew his durk. And sheath'd it in my wanton leather. my bonnie, bonnie highland laddie. My handsome, charming highland laddie. When I am sick and like to die. He'll row me in his highland pladdie. — 20 — With me he played his \varlike pranks, And on me boldly did adventure. He did attack me on both the flanks. And push'd me fiercely in the centre. O my bonnie, &c. A furious feight he did maintain, Wi' equal courage and desire; Altho' he charg'd me three to ane, I stood my ground, and receiv'd his fire. O my bonnie, «fec. But our ammunition being spent. And we quite out o' breath an' sweating. We did agree, wi' ae consent. To feight it out at the next meeting. O my bonnie, etc. SOGER LADDIE. I once was a maid, tho' I canna tell when. An' still my delight is in proper young men; Some one of a troop of gragoons was my daddie, No wonder I'm fond of a soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, &c. — 21 — The first of my lovers was a swagg'rin' blade, To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy, Transported I was with my soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, &c. But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch, The sword I forsook for the sake of the church; He ventur'd the soul, and I risk'd the body, 'Twas then I prov'd false to my soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, &c. FuU soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, The regiment at large for a husband I got; From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was read, I asked no more but a soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, »&c. But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair. Till I met my old laddie at Quinnigham fair; His I'ags regimental they flutter'd so gaudy. My heart it rejoic'd at my soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, &c. An' now I have liv'd — I know not how long. An' still I can joy in a cup or a song; And whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, Here's to thee, my hero, my soger laddie. Sing, lal de lal, &c. — 23 — THERE'S HAIR ON'T. Tune — Push About the Jorum. ere yestreen I stented graith, An' labour'd lang an' sair on't; But fient a work, nor work wad it, There's sic a crap o' hair on't. There's hair on't, there's hair on't. There's thretty thrave an' mair on't; But gin I live t'anither year, I'll tether my grey naigs on't. An' up the glen there was a knowe. Below the knowe a lair on't; 1 maist had perish'd fit an' horse, I cou'd na see for hair on't. There's hair on't, &c. But I'll plant a stake into tlie flowe, That ploughman may take care on't; An' lay twa steppin' stanes below, An' syne I'U cowe the hair on't. There's hair on't, &c. — 33 — ERROCK BRAE. Tune — Sir Alex. Don's Strathspey. O Errock stane, may never maid A maiden by these gae, Nor e'er a stane o' stan'in' graith, Gae stan'in' o'er the brae. An' tillin' Errock brae, young man, An' tillin' Errock brae; An open fur, an' stan'in' graith, Maun till the Errock brae. As I sat by the Errock stane, Surveyin' far an' near, Up cam a Cameronian Wi' a' his preachin' gear. An' tillin', &c. He flang the bible o'er the brae, Amang the rashy gerse. But the solemn league an' covenant He laid below my . An' tillin', «!cc. An' on the edge o' Errock brae, He gae me sic a sten. — 24 — That o'er, an o'er, an' o'er we row'd. Till we cam to the glen. An' tillin', &c. j Yet still his held the grip, An' still his hang, That a synod cou'dna tell the a-se, To wham they did belang. An' tillin', &c. A prelate he loups on before, A Catholic behin'; But gie me a Cameronian, He'll m-w a body blin'. An' tillin', &c. MY AUNTIE JEANIE'S BED. Tune — Jolui Anderson. My auntie Jean held to the shore, As Ailsa boats cam back. An' she has coft a feather-bed For twenty an' a plack; An' in't she wan guid fifty mai'k. Before a towmond sped; O! what a noble bargain Was auntie Jeannie's bed! \ — 25 — WAD YE DO THAT. Same Tune. Gudewife, when your gudeman's frae liame, Might I but be sae bauld, As come to your bed-chamber, When winter nights are cauld? As come to your bed-chamber, When nights are cauld an' wat; An' lie in your gudeman's stead, Gudewife, wad ye do do that? Young man, gif ye should be sae kind. When our gudeman's frae hame. As come to my bed-chamber, Whare I am laid my lane, An' lie in our gudeman's stead; I will tell you what. He me five times ikla night, Yoimg man, wad ye do that? — 26 — FOR A' THAT, AN' A' THAT. Put butter in my Donald's brose, For weel does Donald fa' that; I loe my Donald's tartans weel, His naked a-se, an' a' tbat. For a' that, an' a' that, An' twice as meikle's a' that, The lassie gat a skelpit doup, But wan the day, for a' that. For Donald sware a solemn aith, By his first hairy gravat! That he wad fight the battle there, An' stick the lass, an' a' that. For a' that, «&c. His , baith side an' wide. Hang like a beggar's wallet; An' , like a rollin'-i)in, She nicher'd when she saw that. For a' that, &c. Then she turn'd up her , An' "she bade Donald claw that; The deevil's dizzen Donald drew, An' Donald 2;ied her a' that. — 27 — An' a' that, an' a' tliat, An' twice as meikle's a' that; The lassie gat a skelpit doup, But wan the clay, for a' that. THE PATRIARCH. Tune — The Aulcl Cripple Dow. As honest Jacob on a night, Wi' his beloved beauty, Was duly laid on wedlock's bed, An' noddin at his duty. Fal de lal, &c. "How lang," she says, "ye fumblin' wretch, "Will ye be at it? "My eldest wean might die o' age, "Before that you could get it. "Ye pech, an' grane, an' groazle there, "An naak an unco splutter, "An' I maun lie an' thole you her, "An' fient ae hair the better." Then he, in wrath, put up his graith, "The deevil's in the hissie! 28 "I m-w you as I m-w the lave, "An' niglit an' day I'm bizzy. "I've bairn'd the servant gypsies baith, "Forbye your titty Leah; " Ye barren jad, j'^e pit me mad, "What mair can I do wi' you. "There's ne'er a m-w I've gien the lave, "But ye ha'e got a dizzen; •'An' a ane ye'se get again, "Altho' your should gizzen." But Rachel, calm as any lamb, She claps him on the waulies. Quo' she, "Ne'er fash a woman's clash, "In troth, ye m-w my brawlies. "My dear, 'tis true, for many a m-w, "I'm your uugratefu' debtor; "But ance again, I dinna ken, "We'll ablens happen better." Then, hoest man! wi little wark, He soon forgat his ire; The patriarch he coost the sark, An' up an' till't like fire! — 29 — TrxE — Maggy Lauder. He till't, an' she till't, An' a' to mak a lad again; The auld beld carl When he wan on to nod again. An' he dang, an' she flang, An' a' to mak a laddie o't; But he bor'd, an' she roar'd, An' coudna mak a lassie o't. HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. TuxE — In Johnston's Scotch Songs, Vol. v, p. 494. Altho' my back be at the wa'. An' tho' he be the fau'tor; Altho' my back be at the wa', A'll drink his health in water. wae gae by his wanton sides, Sae brawly's he could flatter; 1 for his sake am slighted sair, An' dries the kintra clatter; But let them sae whate'er they like, Yet, here's his health in water. He follow'd me, baith out an' in. Thro' a' the nooks o' Killie; — 30 — He follow'd me baitli out an' in, Wi' a' stiff stan'in ; But when lie gat between my legs, We made an unco spatter; An' haith, I trow, I soupled it, Tho' bauldly lie did blatter; But tho' my back is at the wa'. Yet here's his health in water. ' I REDE YOU BEWARE O' THE RIPPLES. Tune— r^e Taylor's Faun Thro' the Bed, &c. I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; Tho' the saddle be saft, ye needua ride aft. For fear that the girdin' beguile you, young man. I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; Tho' music be pleasure, tak music in measure, Or ye may want Tiin' i' your whistle, yoimg man. I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; I rede you beware o' the ripples, j'oung man; Whate'er ye bestow, do less than ye dow. The mair will be thought o' your kindness, young man. 31 — I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; I rede you beware o' the ripples, young man; Gif ye wad be Strang, an' wish to live lang, Dance less wi' your a-se to the kipples, young man. ACT SEDURUNT O' THE COURT O' SESSION. Tune — O'er the Muir Amang the Heather. In Embrugh town they've made a law, In Embrugh at the court o' session; That stan'in' are fau'tors a'. An' guilty o' a high transgression. Decreet o' the court o' session. Act sedurunt o' the session; That stan'in' are fau'tors a', An' guilty o' a high transgression. An' they've provided dungeons deep, Ilk lass has ane in her possession; Until the fau'tors wail an' weep. They there shall lie for their transgression. Decreet o' the court o' session, Act sedurunt o' the session, The rogues iu pouring tears shall weep, By act sederunt o' the session, 33 THE LASS O' LIVISTON. The bonnie lass o' Liviston, Her name ye ken, her name ye ken; An' ay the welcomer ye'U be, The farther ben, the farther ben. An' she has "written m her contract To lie her lane, to Me her lane; An' I hae ■written in my contract. To claw her wame, to claw her wame. The bonnie lass o' Li-^nston, She's berry brown, she's berry brown; An' ye winna true her lovely locks, Gae farther down, gae farther down. She has a black and a rolling eye. An' a dimplit chin, an' a dimplit chin; An' no to prie her rosie lips, "Wad be a sin, wad be a sin. The bonnie lass o' Liviston, Cam in to me, cam in to me; I wat wi' baith ends o' the busk, I made me free, I made me free. I laid her feet to my bedstcck. Her head to the wa', her head to the wa' An' I gied her wee coat in her teeth. Her sark an' a', her sark an' a'. — 33 — SHE'S HOY'D ME OUT O' LAUDER- DALE. There liv'd a lady in Lauderdale, She lo'ed a fiddler fiue; She lo'ed him in her chamber, She lo'ed him in her mind; She made his bed at her bed-stock. She said he was her brither; But she's hoy'd him out o' Lauderdale, His fiddle an' a' thegither. First -when I came to Lauderdale, I had a fiddle guid, My sounding pin stood like an aik That grows in the Laudei'-wood ; But now my sounding pin's gaen down. An' tint the foot forever; She's hoy'd me out o' Lauderdale, My fiddle an' a' thegither. First when I came to Lauderdale, Your ladysliip can declare, I play'd a bow, a noble bow, As e'er was strung wi' hair; But, downa do's come o'er me now, An' your ladyship winna consider; She's hoy'd me out o' Lauderdale, ]My fiddle an' a' thegither. — 34 — YE HAE LIEN WRANG, LASSIE. Tune — Up an' Waur Them a', Willie. Ye liae lien wrang lassie, Ye've lien a' wrang; Te've lien in some unco bed, And wi' some unco man. Tour rosy cheeks are turned so ■wan, Ye're greener than the grass, lassie; Your coatie's shorter by a span. Yet dial ae inch the less, lassie. Ye hae lien, &c. Ye've loot the ponnie o'er the dyke, An' he's been i' the corn, lassie; For ay the brose ye sup at e'en. Ye bock them or the morn, lassie. Ye hae lien, &c. For lightly lap ye o'er the knowe. An' tliTo' the "wood ye sang, lassie; But herryin' o' the foggie byke, I fear ye've got a stang, lassie. Ye hae lien, &c. — 35 — WILL YE NA, CAN YE NA LET ME BE. Tune — / Hue Laid a nerrin' in Saut. There liv'd a wife in Whistlecockpen, Will ye na, can ye na let me be; She brews good jill for gentlemen, An' ay she waggit it wantonlie. The night blew sair wi' wind an' weet, Will ye na, &c. She shaw'd the traveler Ben to slee, An' ay, &c. She saw a sight below his sark. Will ye na, &c. She wadna wanted for a mark, An' ay, «fec. She saw a sight aboon his knee, Will ye na, &c. She wadna wanted it for three, An' ay, &c. whare live ye, an' what's your trade? Will ye na, &c. 1 am a thresher guid, he said, An' ay, &c. 36 — An' that's my flail an' workin' graitli, Will ye na, &c. An' noble tools, quo' she, by my faith! An' ay, &c, I ■wad gie a browst, the best I hae, Will ye na, «fco. For a guid darg o' graith like thae. An' ay, &c. I wad sell the hair frae off my tail. Will ye na, &c. To buy our Andrew^ siccan a flail, An' ay, «fcc. THE CASE OF CONSCIENCE. TuxE — Auld Sir Symon, the King. I'll tell you a tale of a wife. An' she was a whig an' a saunt. She liv'd a most sanctified life. But whyles she was fash'd wi' her . Poor woman, she gaed to the priest. An' to him she made her complain ; There's naithing that troubles my breast, Sae sair, as the sins o' my . — 37 — He bade her to clear up her brow, An' no be discourag'd upon't, For haly guid "women enow, Are mony times waur'd wi' their It's nocht but Belzebub's art, An' that's the mair sign of a saunt; He kens that ye 're pure at the heart. So he levels his darts at your . O you that are called an' free, Elekit an' chosen a saunt, Wilt break the eternal degi-ee, Whate'er ye do wi' your . An' now, wi' a sanctified kiss. Let's kneel an' renew the cov'nant, It's this — and it's this — and it's this That settles the pride o' yom- . Devotion blew up to a flame, Nae words can do justice upon't; The honest ault carlin gaed hame, Rejoicin' an' clawiu' her . 38 — COMIN' O'ER THE HILLS O' CO U PAR. Tune — Buffian's Rant. Comin' o'er the Mils o' Coupar, Comin' o'er the hills o' Coupar, Donald in a sudden wrath, He ran his highland dirk into her. Donald Brodie met a lass Comin' o'er the hills o' Coupar; Donald, wi' his highland hand, Graipit a' the bits about her. Comin' o'er, &c. Weel I wat she was a quine, ' Wad made a body's mouth to water; Our Mess John, we's auld gray pow, His haly lips wad licket at her. Comin' o'er, &c. Up she started in a fright, An' thro' the braes what she could bicker; Let her gang, quo' Donald now, For in him's nerse my shot is siker. Comin' o'er, &c. — 39 BROSE AND BUTTER. Jenny sits up i' the laft, Jockie wad fain be at her; But there cam a wind out o' the west, Made all the winnocks to scatter. O gie my love brose, brose, O gie my love brose an' butter; For nane in Carrick wi' him, Can please a lassie better. The lavrock lo'es the grass, The pairtrick lo'es the stibble; An' hey for the gard'ner lad, To gully awa wi' his dibble! O gie, &c. My daddie sent me to the hill. To pu' my Minnie some heather; An' drive it in your fill, Ye're welcome to the leather. O gie, &c. The mouse is a merry wee beast, The moudiewart wants the een; — 40 — An' o for a toucli o' the thing, I had in my nieve yestreen. O gie, &c. We a' were fou yestreen, The night shall be its brither; An' hey for a merry pin, To nail twa/wames togither. O gie, ccc. THE SIMMER MORN. TtTNB — Push About the Jorum. When maukin-bucks, at early , In dewy glens are seen, sir. When birds, on boughs, tak aff their mows, Amang the leaves sae green, sir; Latona's son looks liquorish on Dame Nature's grand impetus. Till his Pego rise, then westward ties, To r r Madam Thetis. Yon wand'ring rill that marks the hill, An' glances o'er the brae, sir, Sides by a bower, where mony a flower, Sheds f romance on the day, sir; 41 — There Damon lay, wi' Sylvia gay, To love they thought no crime, sir; The wind birds sang, the echoes rang. While Damon's heat time, sir. First, wi' the thrush, his thurst an' push. Had compass large an' long, sir; The blackbird next, his tunefu' text. Was bolder, clear an' strong, sir; The linnet's lay came then in play. An' the lark that soared aboon, sir; Till Damon, firce, mistim'd his , An' quite out of time, sir. SHE GRIPPET AT -THE GIRTEST O'T. Tune — East Nook o' Fife. Our bride flate, and our bride flaug, But lang before the lav'rock sang. She paid him twice for ev'ry bang, An' grippet at the girtest o't. Our bride turu'd her to the wa'. But long before the cock did craw, She took him by the an' a', An' g-rippet at the girtest o't. — 43 — WHA'LL KISS ME NOW. Tttne — Comin' Thro' the Rye. O wha'll kiss me now, my Jo, An' wha'll kiss me now; A soger wi' his bandiliers Has bang'd my belly fu'. O I hae tint my rosy cheek, Likewise my waist sae sma'; O wae gae by the soger lown. The soger did it a'. An' wha'll, &c. Now I maun thole the scornfu' sneer, O' mony a saucy quine; When, ciirse upon her godly face! Her as merry's mine. An' wha'll, &c. Our dame hauds up her wanton tail, As due as she gaes lie; An' yet misca's a young thing, The trade if she but try. An' wha'll, &c. Our dame can lae her ain gudeman. An' for glutton greed; — 43 — An' yet misca' a poor thing That's for its bread. An' -wha'll, &c. Alake! sae sweet a tree as love, Sic bitter fruit should bear! . Alake, tliat e'er a merry , Should draw a sautty tear. An' wha'll, &c. But deevil tak the lousy loun. Denies the bairn he got! Or lea's the merry he lo'ed. To wear a ragged coat. An' wha'll, &c. YESE GET A HOLE TO HIDE IT IN. Tune — WaiiMn' o' the Fatild. O will ye speak at our town, As ye come frae the fair? An' yese get a hole to hide it in, Yese get a hole to hide it in; Will yese speak at our town, As ye come frae the fair? Tese get a hole to hide it in, Will baud it a' an' mair. — 44 — O hand awa your hand, sir, Ye gar me ay think shame; Axi' yese get a hole to hide it in, Yese get, &c. O haud away your hand, sir. Ye gar me ay think shame; An' yese get a hole to hide it in, An' think yoursel at hame. O will ye let ahee, sir? Toots! now, ye've reft my sark, An' yese get a hole to hide it in, Yese get, &c. O will ye let abee, sir. Toots! now, ye've reft my sark; An' yese get a hole to hide it in, Whare ye may work your wark. O haud awa j^our hand, sir Ye're like to pit me daft; An' yese get a hole to hide it in. An' yese get, &c. O haud awa your hand, sir, Ye're like to pit me daft; An' yese get a hole to hide it in. To keep it warm an' saft. — 45 — O hand it in your hand, sir, Till I get up my claes; An' yese get a hole to hide it in, Yese get, &c. O hand it in your hand, sir, Till I get up my claes. And yese get a hole to hide it in, To keep it frae the flaes. DUNCAN MACLEERIE. Tune — Jocky Macgill. Duncan Macleerie an' Janet, his wife. The gaed to Ealmarnock to buy a new knife; But instead of a knife, they coft but a bleerie; We're very weel serv'd, Janet, quo' Duncan Macleerie. Duncan Macleerie has got a new fiddle, It's a' strung wi' hair, an' a hole in the middle; An' ay when he plays on't, his wife looks sae cheery. Very weel done, Duncan, cjuo' Janet Macleerie. Duncan, he play'd till his bow its grew gi'oagy; Janet grew fretfu', an' unco uneasy; Hoot, quo' she, Duncan, ye're unco soon weary; Play us a pibrobh, quo' Janet Macleerie. — 46 — Duncan Macleerie he play'd on the harp, An' Janet Macleerie she danc'd in her sark; Her sark it was short, her it 'was hairy. Very weel danc'd, Janet, quo' Duncan Macleerie. DUNCAN DAVIDSON. There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, An' she gae'd o'er the muir to spin; She fied a lad to lift her leg, They ca'd him Duncan Davidson. Fal lal, &c. Meg had a muff, an' it was rough, 'Twas black without and red within; An' Duncan, case he got the cauld. He slipt his Highland Pistol in. Fal lal, &c. Meg had a muif, an' it was rough. An' Duncan strak twa neivfu' in; She clasp'd her heels about his waist, I thank you, Duncan! yerk it in. Fal lal, &c. — 47 — Duncan made her hurdies dreep, In ]ii