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Jockie was the laddie that held the pleugh,
But now he's got gowd and gear eneugh;

He thinks nae mair of me that wears the plaiden coat;
May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!'

Jenny was the lassie that mucked the byre,
But now she is clad in her silken attire,

And Jockie says he lo'es her, and swears he's me forgot;
May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!

But all this shall never daunton me,

Sae lang's I keep my fancy free :

For the lad that's sae inconstant, he's not worth a groat; May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't!


IN Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, he tells us that about thirty of the songs in that publication were the works of some young gentlemen of his acquaintance; which songs are marked with the letters D. C. &c.*-Old Mr. Tytler, of Woodhouselee, the

* Some of the best songs in the English language were written by contemporaries and countrymen of Ramsay's; by Crawfurd, Hamilton

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worthy and able defender of the beauteous queen of Scots, told me that the songs marked C, in the Teatable, were the composition of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of Achinames, who was afterwards unfortunately drowned coming from France.—As Tytler was most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay, I think the anecdote may be depended on. Of consequence, the beautiful song of Tweed Side is Mr. Crawford's, and indeed does great honor to his poetical talents. He was a Robert Crawford; the Mary he celebrates, was Mary Stuart, of the Castlemilk family,* afterwards married to a Mr. John Relches.

What beauties does Flora disclose!

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed!
Yet Mary's still sweeter than those;
Both nature and fancy exceed.

Hamilton of Bangour, and Lord Binning: for we have nothing more perfect, in that species of composition, than Tweedside, "What beauties does Flora disclose ;” "Go, plaintive sounds;”– and, "Did ever Swain a Nymph adore."

Lord Woodhouselee's Remarks on the Writings

of Ramsay, p. 116.

* If the reader refer to the note in page 62, he will there find that Mr. Walter Scott states this song to have been written in honour of another lady, a Miss Mary Lilias Scott.

Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently through those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush,
The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove,
With music enchant every bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring, We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep?
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest;
Kind nature indulging my bliss,
To relieve the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

"Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her may compare; Love's graces around her do dwell;

She's fairest, where thousands are fair.

Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed;
Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?

I have seen a song, calling itself the original Tweed Side, and said to have been composed by a Lord Yester. It consisted of two stanzas, of which I still recollect the first.

When Maggy and I was acquaint,
I carried my noddle fu' hie;
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain,
Nor gowdspink sae happy as me:
But I saw her sae fair, and I lo'ed;

I woo'd, but I came nae great speed;
So now I maun wander abroad,

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.*

*The last stanza runs thus:-Ed.

To Meiggy my love I did tell,

Saut tears did my passion express,
Alas! for I loo'd her o'erwell,

An' the women loo sic a man less.
Her heart it was frozen and cauld,
Her pride had my ruin decreed;
Therefore I will wander abroad,

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.


The author of the Boatie Rows, was a Mr. Ewen of Aberdeen. It is a charming display of womanly affection mingling with the concerns and occupations of life. It is nearly equal to There's nae luck about the house.

O weel may the boatie row,
And better may she speed;
And leesome may the boatie row
That wins my bairns bread:

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed;

And weel may the boatie row

That wins the bairns bread.

I cust* my line in Largo bay,

And fishes I catch'd nine;

There was three to boil, and three to fry,

And three to bait the line:

The boatie rows, the boatie rows,

The boatie rows indeed;

And happy be the lot of a'

Who wishes her to speed.

* Cast.-The Aberdeenshire dialect.

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