View ilka gay scene all around,

That are, and that promise to be;
Yet in them a' naething is found
Sae perfect, Eliza, as thee.
Thy een the clear fountains excel,

Thy locks they outrival the grove;
When zephyrs thus pleafingly fwell,
Ilk wave makes a captive to love.

The rofes and lilies combin'd,

And flowers of maist delicate hue,
By thy cheek and dear breasts are outshin'd,
Their tinctures are naithing fae true.
What can we compare with thy voice,
And what with thy humour fae sweet?

Nae music can bless with fic joys;
Sure angels are just sae complete.

Fair bloffom of ilka delight,

Whose beauties ten thousand outshine :
Thy sweet shall be lasting and bright,
Being mix'd with fae many divine.
Ye pow'rs, who have given fic charms
To Eliza, your image below,

O fave her frae all human harms!
And make her hours happily flow.

My Daddy forbad, my Minny forbad.

WHEN I think on my lad,

I figh and am fad,

For now he is far frae me.

My daddy was harsh,

My minny was warfe,

That gart him gae yont the fea.

Without an estate,

That made him look blate:

And yet a brave lad is he.

Gin fafe he come hame,

In spite of my dame,

He'll ever be welcome to me.

Love speers nae advice
Of parents o'er wife,

That have but ae bairn like me,

That looks upon cash,

As naething but trash,

That shakles what shou'd be free.
And though my dear lad
Not ae penny had,

Since qualities better has he;
A'beit I'm an heiress,

I think it but fair is,

To love him, fince he loves me.

Then, my dear Jamie,
To thy kind Jeanie,

Hafte, hafte thee in o'er the fea,
To her wha can find

Nae ease in her mind,

Without a blyth fight of thee.

Though my daddy forbad,
And my minny forbad,

Forbidden I will not be ;

For fince thou alone

My favour haft won,

Nane else shall e'er get it for me.

Yet them I'll not grieve,
Or without their leave

Gi'e my hand as a wife to thee:
Be content with a heart,
That can never defert,

Till they cease to oppose or be.

My parents may prove

Yet friends to our love,

When our firm resolves they see ;
Then I with pleasure

Will yield up my treasure,

And a' that love orders to thee.

Tune-Steer her up, and had her gawn.

O

STEER her and had her gawn,

up,

Her mither's at the mill, jo;

But gin fhe winna tak a man,

E'en let her tak her will, jo.

Pray thee, lad, leave filly thinking,

Caft thy cares of love away;

Let's our forrows drown in drinking,

'Tis daffin langer to delay.

See that shining glass of claret,
How invitingly it looks;

Take it aff, and let's hae mair o't,

Pox on fighting, trade, and books.
Let's have pleasure while we're able,
Bring us in the meikle bowl,
Place't on the middle of the table,

And let wind and weather gowl.

Call the drawer, let him fill it
Fou, as ever it can hold :

O tak tent ye dinna fpill it,

'Tis mair precious far than gold.
By you've drunk a dozen bumpers,
Bacchus will begin to prove,
Spite of Venus and her Mumpers,
Drinking better is than love.

Clout the Caldron.

HAVE you any pots or pans,

Or any broken chandlers?

I am a tinkler to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders,.
As fcant of filler as of grace,

Disbanded, we've a bad run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,

I'm come to clout her caldron. Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Madam, if you have wark for me,
I'll do't to your contentment,

And dinna care a single flie

For any man's refentment;

For, lady fair, though I appear
To ev'ry ane a tinkler,

Yet to yourfell I'm bauld to tell,
I am a gentle jinker.

Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Love Jupiter into a swan

Turn'd for his lovely Leda;

He like a bull o'er meadows ran,
To carry aff Europa.

Then may not I, as well as he,

To cheat your Argos blinker, And win your love, like mighty Jove, Thus hide me in a tinkler?

Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Sir, ye appear a cunning man,

But this fine plot you'll fail in, For there is neither pot nor pan Of mine you'll drive a nail in.

Then bind your budget on your back,

And nails up in your apron,

For I've a tinkler under tack

That's us'd to clout my caldron. Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

The MALT-MAN.

THE malt-man comes on Munday,

He craves wonder fair,
Cries, Dame, come gi'e me my filler,
Or malt ye fall ne'er get mair.

I took him into the pantry,

And gave him fome good cock-broo, Syne paid him upon a gantree, As hoftler-wives should do.

When malt-men come for filler,

And gaugers with wands o'er foon, Wives, tak them a' down to the cellar, And clear them as I have done. This bewith, when cunzie is fcanty, Will keep them frae making din; The knack I learn'd frae an auld aunty, The fnackest of a' my kin.

The malt-man is right cunning,

But I can be as flee,

And he may crack of his winning,

When he clears fcores with me:

For come when he likes, I'm ready;

But if frae hame I be,

Let him wait on our kind lady,
She'll answer a bill for me.