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&c." It consists of three stanzas, besides the chorus; and has humor in its composition-it is an excellent but somewhat licentious song.-It begins

As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount,

And down amang the blooming heather, &c.

This air, and the common Highland Laddie, seem only to be different sets.

Another Highland Laddie, also in the Museum, vol. v. is the tune of several Jacobite fragments.One of these old songs to it, only exists, as far as I know, in these four lines

Whare hae ye been a' day,

Bonie laddie, Highland laddie?

Down the back o' Bell's brae,

Courtin Maggie, courtin Maggie.

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's beautiful air, called, the new Highland Laddie.*

* The following observation was found in a memorandumbook belonging to Burns:

The Highlanders' Prayer at Sheriff-Muir.

"OL-d be thou with us; but, if thou be not with us, be not against us; but leave it between the red coats and us!"


To sing such a beautiful air to such execrable

verses, is downright *

of common sense!

The Scots verses indeed are tolerable.


THIS is an Anglo-Scotish production, but by no means a bad one.


IT is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charming song, and by the means of transposing a few English words into Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots song.I was not acquainted with the Editor until the first volume was nearly finished, else, had I known in time, I would have prevented such an impudent absurdity.*

* These are Dr. Percy's English verses:

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me,

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee,

The lowly cot and russet gown?


THE BLAIThrie o't.

THE following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman sung it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing.

O Willy weel I mind, I lent you my hand,

To sing you a song which you did me command; But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot


you call'd it the gear and the blaithrie o't.

No longer drest in silken sheen,

No longer deck'd with jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair.

O Nancy, when thou'rt far away,
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray,
Nor shrink before the wintry wind?

O can that soft and gentle mien

Extremes of hardship learn to bear;
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

O Nancy,

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion, or pride,
I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride;
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot,
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't.

Tho' my lassie hae nae scarlets or silks to put on,
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne;
I wad rather hae my lassie, tho' she cam in her smock,
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't.

O Nancy, canst thou love so true,
Through perils keen with me to go?
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue,
To share with him the pangs of woe?

Say, shou'd disease, or pain befal,

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care?
Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recal,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,

Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?

And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay

Strew flow'rs, and drop the tender tear?

Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

Tho' we hae nae horses or menzie at command,

We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' our hand; And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in

any spot,

And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie o't.

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as lent;

Hae we less, hae we mair, we will ay be content;

For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins but a


Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't.

I'll not meddle wi' th' affairs o' the kirk or the queen; They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink let them


On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold it still


Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't.


When I think on this warld's pelf,

And the little wee share I have o't to myself,
And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot,
May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!*

*Shame fall the geer and the blaď'ry o't, is the turn of an old Scotish song, spoken when a young handsome girl marries an old man, upon the account of his wealth.

Kelly's Scots Proverbs.

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