When the drums do beat,
And the cannons rattle,
Thou shalt sit in state,

And see thy love in battle.

When the vanquish'd foe
Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.

OH, MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.
Tune-"Lord Breadalbane's March."

Oн, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle,
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
And merry hae I been cloutin' a kettle,

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.
Oh, a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,
And a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,1
And a' the lang night am as happy's a king.

Bitter in dool I lickit my winnin's,

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: Blest be the hour she cool'd in her linens,

And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave!

Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie,

And come to my arms and kiss me again! Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie !

And blest be the day I did it again.

EPPIE ADAIR.

Tune-" My Eppie."

AND oh! my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie!
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair?
By love, and by beauty,
By law, and by duty,
I swear to be true to
My Eppie Adair !

1 Fondle my dearie.

And oh my Eppie,
My jewel, my Eppie!
Wha wadna be happy
Wi' Eppie Adair?
A' pleasure exile me,
Dishonour defile me.
If e'er I beguile thee,
My Eppie Adair !

YOUNG JOCKEY.

Tune-"Young Jockey."

"THE whole of this song," says Stenhouse, "excepting three or four lines, is the production of Burns.'

YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
In a' our town or here awa':
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,1
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed 2 my een, sae bonny blue,
He roosed my waist sae genty sma',
And aye my heart came to my mou'
When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,

Through wind and weet, through frost and snaw; And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca',

And aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a';

And aye he vows he'll be my ain,
As lang's he has a breath to draw.

WEE WILLIE GRAY.

WEE Willie Gray, and his leather wallet;
Peel a willow-wand to be him boots and jacket:

The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet,
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet.

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,

Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat:
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.

1 Plough.

2 Praised.

The chorus of the song which celebrates the battle where Viscount Dundes jel a the momen of victury, as ; the rest as from the pen of Burns.

GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN.

Tune-"Guidwife, count the lawin."

GANE is the day, and mirk's the night, But we'll ne'er stray for faut o' light, For ale and brandy's stars and moon, And blude-red wine's the rising sun.

Then, guidwife, count the lawin,
The lawin, the lawin;
Then, guidwife, count the lawin,
And bring a coggie1 mair.

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen,
And simple folk maun fecht and fen';
But here we're a' in ae accord,
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.

My coggie is a haly pool,

That heals the wounds o' care and dool; And pleasure is a wanton trout,

An ye drink but deep ye'll find him out.

WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T.

Tune-"Whistle o'er the lave o't."

FIRST when Maggy was my care,
Heaven, I thought, was in her air;
Now we're married-spier nae mair—
Whistle o'er the lave o't.-

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonny Meg was nature's child ;
Wiser men than me's beguiled-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love, and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle o'er the lave o't.

1 Bumper.

OH, CAN YE LABOUR LEA.

OH, can ye labour lea, young man,
And can ye labour lea?
Gae back the gate ye cam again,
Ye'se never scorn me.

I fee'd a man at Martinmas,
Wi' airl-pennies three;
And a' the faut I fan' wi' him,
He couldna labour lea.

The stibble-rig is easy plough'd,
The fallow land is free;
But wha wad keep the handless coof,
That couldna labour lea?

WOMEN'S MINDS.

Tune-"For a' that."

THOUGH Women's minds, like winter winds,
May shift and turn, and a' that,
The noblest breast adores them maist,

A consequence I draw that.

For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as muckle's a' that,
The bonny lass that I lo❜e best
She'll be my ain for a' that.

Great love I bear to all the fair,
Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still,
A mortal sin to thraw that.

But there is ane aboon the lave,1

Has wit, and sense, and a' that;

A bonny lass, I like her best,

And wha a crime dare ca' that?

IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNY FACE.

Tune-"The Maid's Complaint."

"THESE verses," says Cunningham, "were originally in English: Burns be stowed a Scottish dress upon them, and made them utter sentiments connected with his own affections."

1 Rest.