O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly,
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly,

O gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly.

First she drank crummie, and syne she drank garie;
Now she has druken my bonny grey marie,

That carried me thro' a' the dubs and the larie.
O! gin, &c.

She has druken her stockins, sa has she her shoon,
And she has druken her bonny new gown;

Her wee bit dud sark that co'erd her fu' rarely,
O! gin, &c.

If she'd drink but her ain things I wad na much care,
But she drinks my claiths I canna weel spare,
When I'm wi' my gossips, it angers me sairly,
O! gin, &c.

My Sunday's coat she's laid it a wad, *
The best blue bonnet e'er was on my head;

At kirk and at market I'm cover'd but barely,

O! gin, &c.

han's,

The verra gray mittens that gaed on my
To her neebor wife she has laid them in pawns;
My bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae dearly,

O! gin, &c.

*Laid it a wad-laid it in pawn.

If there's ony siller, she maun keep the purse;
If I seek but a baubee she'll scauld and she'll curse,
She gangs like a queen-I scrimped and sparely,
O! gin, &c.

I never was given to wrangling nor strife,
Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life;
Ere it come to a war I'm ay for a parley.
O! gin, &c.

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow,
But when she sits down she fills herself fou;
And when she is fou she's unco camstarie,
O! gin, &c.

When she comes to the street she roars and she rants, Has nae fear o' her neebors, nor minds the house

wants;

She rants up some fool-sang, like "Up y'er heart, Charlie."

O! gin, &c.

And when she comes hame she lays on the lads,
She ca's the lasses baith limmers and jads,
And I, my ain sell, an auld cuckold carlie,

O! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly,
Hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly,

O! gin my wife wad drink, hooly and fairly.

APPENDIX

TO VOL. I.

APPENDIX (a.)

AN Account of Jean Adam, Authoress of the Ballad "There's nae luck about the House," referred to in page 68.

This song, the production of Jean Adam, who taught a day-school at Crawford's-dyke, in the neighbourhood of Greenock, has been deemed not unworthy the pen of the Translator of the Lusiad. A copy of it, in his own hand-writing, was found among his MS. after his decease, and appeared in the last edition of his works, among some original pieces never before published. As it has been an uniform principle in making the present Collection to establish the authenticity of each particular poem, the Editor of Mr. Mickle's works was consulted respecting the grounds of his claim to the song in

question. In his answer he states, that never having had any conversation with Mr. Mickle on this ballad, he applied to his relict, who perfectly remembers receiving a copy of it from Mr. Mickle, but is not positive that he affirmed it to be his production, though, on being questioned, she thinks he did not absolutely deny it. He adds, that her powers of recollection having been impaired by a paralysis, she cannot speak decidedly of a conversation which took place so many years ago. In Mr. Mickle's copy two fine stanzas are omitted, which, on the authority of the Rev. Patrick Davidson, of Rayne, in the county of Aberdeen, are ascribed to Dr. Beattie, who affirms that they were inserted by the Doctor soon after the first appearance of the piece.*

* The following are the lines attributed to Dr. Beattie:

"The cauld blasts of the winter wind,

That thrilled thro' my heart,

They're a' blawn by; I hae him safe,

Till death we'll never part;

But what puts parting in my head?

It may be far awa;

The present moment is our ain,

The neist we never saw !"

Without controverting the Doctor's claim to these eight disputed lines, the Editor cannot help remarking, that the two

best,

"The