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PHILLY AND WILLY

She. As on the brier the budding rose,
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.
Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. The milder sun and bluer sky
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye
As is a sight o' Philly.

She. The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery Spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring,
As meeting o' my Willy,
Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. The bee that thro' the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the op'ning flower,
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.

She. The woodbine in the dewy weet,
When ev'ning shades in silence meet,
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet
As is a kiss o' Willy.
Both. For a' the joys, &c.

He. Let fortune's wheel at random rin,

And fools may tine, and knaves may win;
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.

She. What's a' the joys that gowd can gie?
I dinna care a single flie;

The lad I love's the lad for me,

And that's my ain dear Willy.

Both. For a' the joys, &c.

FAREWELL THOU STREAM

Contented wi' Little and cantie wi' Mair.1 Tune-"Lumps o' Puddin'."

b

CONTENTED Wi' little, and cantiea wi' mair,
Whene'er I forgather wi' Sorrow and Care,
I gie them a skelp as they're creeping alang,
Wi' a cog o' gude swatsd and an auld Scottish sang.

e

Chorus-Contented wi' little, &c.

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought;
But Man is a soger, and Life is a faught;

My mirth and gude humour are coin in my pouch,

And my Freedom's my Lairdship nae monarch dare touch. Contented wi' little, &c.

A townmond' o' trouble, should that be my fa',"
A night o' gude fellowship sowthers it a':
When at the blythe end o' our journey at last,
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past?
Contented wi' little, &c.

Blind Chance, let her snapper and stoyte1 on her way;
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae:
Come Ease, or come Travail, come Pleasure or Pain,
My warst word is: "Welcome, and welcome again!"
Contented wi' little, &c.

merry.

Farewell thou Stream.2

Air-"Nansie's to the greenwood gane."

FAREWELL, thou stream that winding flows

Around Eliza's dwelling;

O mem'ry! spare the cruel thoes
Within my bosom swelling.

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twelvemonth. 8 lot. 1 The air is described by Burns as "Bacchanalian." The words represent his own troubled mind at this date, with his convivial consolations.

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1 stumble and stagger.

2 An altered version of the lines on Mrs Riddel, "The Last Time I came o'er the Moor."

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain
And yet in secret languish;

To feel a fire in every vein,

Nor dare disclose my anguish.

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown,
I fain my griefs would cover;
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan,
Betray the hapless lover.

I know thou doom'st me to despair,
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me;
But, O Eliza, hear one prayer-
For pity's sake forgive me!

The music of thy voice I heard,
Nor wist while it enslav'd me;
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd,
Till fears no more had sav'd me:
Th' unwary sailor thus, aghast
The wheeling torrent viewing,
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last,
In overwhelming ruin.

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie.1

Tune "Roy's Wife."

Chorus-Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ?
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie?
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus, for pity?

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katie ?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward-
An aching, broken heart, my Katie !
Canst thou leave me, &c.

1 This appears to be an overture to the offended Mrs Riddell, or so Chambers supposes. A kind of lyric reply,

in the lady's hand, was found among Burns's papers.

THE TEAR-DROP

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
That fickle heart of thine, my Katie !
Thou mayst find those will love thee dear,
But not a love like mine, my Katie,
Canst thou leave me, &c.

My Nanie's Awa.1

Tune-"There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame."
Now in her green mantle blythe Nature arrays,
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes;
While birds warble welcomes in ilka green shaw,
But to me it's delightless-my Nanie's awa.

The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn;
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,
They mind me o' Nanie-and Nanie's awa.

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn,
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn,
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa',
Give over for pity-my Nanie's awa.

Come Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and grey,
And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay:
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild-driving snaw
Alane can delight me-now Nanie's awa.

The Tear-drop.2

WAE is my heart, and the tear's in my e'e;
Lang, lang has Joy been a stranger to me:
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear,

And the sweet voice o' Pity ne'er sounds in my ear.

1 Mrs MacLehose was one of Burns's Nanies or Nancies, the lines may or may not refer to her.

2 The lines might shew a presentiment of early death, dramatically put.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

Love thou hast pleasures, and deep hae I luv'd;
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae I pruv'd;
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast,
I can feel by its throbbings, will soon be at rest.

Oh, if I were-where happy I hae been-
Down by yon stream, and yon bonie castle-green;
For there he is wand'ring and musing on me,

Wha wad soon dry the tear-drop that clings to my e'e.1

For the sake o' Somebody."

My heart is sair-I dare na tell,
My heart is sair for Somebody;

I could wake a winter night
For the sake o' Somebody.
O-hon! for Somebody!
O-hey! for Somebody!

I could range the world around,
For the sake o' Somebody.

Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love,
O, sweetly smile on Somebody!
Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my Somebody!
O-hon! for Somebody!

O-hey! for Somebody!

I wad do-what wad I not?
For the sake o' Somebody.

A Man's a Man for a' that.3
Tune-"For a' that.

Is there for honest Poverty

That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!

1 "The tear frae his Philis's e'e," is

Johnson's reading.

2 "Somebody" remains anonymous.

3 Sent to Thomson on Jan. 15, 1795, having then been composed for a fortnight.

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