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THIS song was composed by the Rev. John Skinner, Non-juring Clergyman at Linshart, near Peterhead. He is likewise the author of "Tullochgorum," "Ewie wi' the Crookit horn," "John o' Badenyond," &c.; and what is of still more consequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. He is the Author of an "Ecclesiastical History of Scotland." The air is by Mr. Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon; the first composer of strathspeys of the age. I have been told by somebody who had it of Marshall himself, that he took the idea of his three most celebrated pieces, "The Marquis of Huntly's Reel," his "Farewel," and "Miss Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old air, The German Lairdie.'

Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly,
Play the Marquis' reel discreetly,
Here we are, a band completely
Fitted to be jolly.-

Come, my boys, blythe and gawcię,
Every youngster chuse his lassie,

Dance wi' life, and be not saucy,

Shy nor melancholy.

Come, my boys, &c.

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Lay aside your sour grimaces,
Clouded brows, and drumly faces,
Look about, and see their Graces,

How they smile delighted;

Now's the season to be merry,

Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry,

Time enough to turn camsterry

When we're auld and doited.

Now's the season, &c.

Butler, put about the claret,
Thro' us a' divide and share it,
Gordon-Castle well can spare it,

It has claret plenty :

Wine's the true inspiring liquor,
Draffy drink may please the Vicar,
When he grasps the foaming bicker,
Vicars are not dainty.

Wine's the true inspiring liquor, &c.

We'll extol our noble master,

Sprung from many a brave ancestor,-
Heaven preserve him from disaster,
So we pray in duty.

Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess,
Safe from all distressful touches,

Keep her out of Pluto's clutches,

Long in health and beauty,

Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, &c.

Angels guard their gallant boy,

Make him long his father's joy,

Sturdy, like the heir of Troy,

Stout and brisk and healthy,

Pallas, grant him every blessing,
Wit and strength and size increasing,
Plutus, what's in thy possessing,

Make him rich and wealthy.

Pallas, grant him every blessing, &c.

Youth, solace him with thy pleasure,
In refin'd and worthy measure;
Merit, gain him choicest treasure,

From the Royal donor;

Famous may he be in story,

Full of days, and full of glory;

To the grave, when old and hoary,

May he go with honour!

Famous may he be in story, &c.

Gordons, join our hearty praises,
Honest, though in homely phrases,

Love our cheerful spirits raises,
Lofty as the lark is:

Echo, waft our wishes daily,

Thro' the grove, and thro' the alley,

Sound o'er every hill and valley,

Blessings on our Marquis.

Echo, waft our wishes, &c.



I COMPOSED this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud.

O wha my babie-clouts will buy?
Wha will tent me when I cry?
Wha will kiss me whare I lie ?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will own he did the faut ?
Wha will buy my groanin-maut?

Wha will tell me how to ca't?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

When I mount the creepie-chair,*
Wha will sit beside me there?
Gie me Rob, I seek nae mair,

The rantin dog the daddie o't.

Wha will crack to me my lane?
Wha will mak me fidgin fain?
Wha will kiss me o'er again?

The rantin dog the daddie o't.


IT is remark-worthy that the song of Hooly and Fairly, in all the old editions of it, is called The Drunken Wife o' Galloway, which localizes it to that country.


Oh! what had I to do for to marry ?

My wife she drinks naething but sack and Canary, I to her friends complain'd right early,

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