PUIRTITH CAULD. Tune" I had a horse." O, PUIRTÍTH Cauld, and restless love, An 'twere na for my Jeanie. O, why should fate sic pleasure have, This world's wealth when I think on, That he should be the slave o't. O, why should fate, &c. Her een, sae bonnie blue, betray O, why should fate, &c. O, wha can prudence think upon O, why should fate, &c. How blest the humble cottar's lot! O, why should fate, &c. RATTLIN, ROARIN WILLIE. THE last stanza of this song is mine; it was composed out of compliment to one of the wor thiest fellows in the world, William Dunbar, Esq. Writer to the signet, Edinburgh, and Colonel of the Crochallan corps, a club of wits who took that title at the time of raising the fencible regiments. O RATTLIN, roarin Willie, And buy some ither ware; Ye're welcome hame to me. O Willie, come sell your fiddle, If I should sell my fiddle, The warl' wou'd think I was mad, For many a rantin day My fiddle and I hae had! RAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING. I COMPOSED these verses on Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the So may you have auld stanes in store, The very stanes that Adam bore, death of her sister, and the still more melancholy So may ye get in glad possession, death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon. Igo, and ago, The coins o' Satan's coronation! Iram, coram, dago. Bewitchingly o'er-arching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Her smiling sae wyling, Wad make a wretch forget his woe; What pleasure, what treasure, Unto these rosy lips to grow; Such was my Chloris' bonnie face, When first her bonnie face I saw, And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. Like harmony her motion: Her pretty ancle is a spy Betraying fair proportion, Wad make a saint forget the sky. Sae warming, sae charming, Her faultless form and graceful air; Ilk feature-auld Nature Declar'd that she could do nae mair: Hers are the willing chains o' love, By conquering beauty's sovereign law; And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, She says she lo'es me best of a'. Let others love the city, And gaudy show at sunny noon; Gie me the lonely valley, The dewy eve, and rising moon. Fair beaming and streaming, Her silver light the boughs amang; While falling, recalling, The amorous thrush concludes his sang: There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, And hear my vows o' truth and love, And say thou lo'es me best of a'. SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. Tune-" Tibby Fowler." WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed, The place they ca'd it Linkumdoddie. Willie was a wabster gude, Could stown a clew wi' onie bodie. He had a wife was dour and din, O, Tinkler Madgie was her mother: Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her! She has an ee, she has but ane, The cat has twa the very colour; Twa rustie teeth, forbye a stump, A clapper tongue wad deave a miller; A whiskin' beard about her mou'; Her nose and chin they threaten ither: Sic a wife as Willie had, I wadna gie a button for her! She's bow-hough'd, she's bein-shinn'd, Ae limpin' leg a hand-bread shorter; She's twisted richt, she's twisted left, To balance fair in ilka quarter: |