He's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme) Syne bade her gae in, for a b-h and a w-e, And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. The carlin gaed thro' them like ony wud bear

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme). Whae'er she gat hands on came near her nae mair; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. A reekit wee devil looks over the wa'

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), 'O, help, master, help, or she'll ruin us a', And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.'

The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife (Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), He pitied the man that was tied to a wife;

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), He was not in wedlock, thank heav'n, but in hell; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), And to her auld husband he's carried her back; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime. I hae been a devil the feck o' my life

(Hey, and the rue grows bonnie wi' thyme), But ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife; And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue is in prime.'

LADY ONLIE.

Tune-The Ruffian's Rant.

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank,
When they gae to the shore o' Bucky,
They'll step in an' tak' a pint
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky,

Brews good ale at shore o' Bucky;
I wish her sale for her gude ale,
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.
Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean,
I wat she is a dainty chucky;
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed
Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky,

Brews gude ale at shore o' Bucky;
I wish her sale for her gude ale,
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky.

THE CARLES OF DYSART.

It is presumed that this song is entirely original; the air is lively and old, and the verses have an air of antiquity.

Tune-Hey, ca' thro'.

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart,
And the lads o' Buckhaven,
And the kimmers o' Largo,
And the lasses o' Leven.
Hey, ca' thro', ca thro',

For we hae mickle ado;
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',

For we hae mickle ado.

We hae tales to tell,

And we hae sangs to sing;
We hae pennies to spend,
And we hae pints to bring.

We'll live a' our days,

And them that come behin',
Let them do the like,

And spend the gear they win.
Hey, ca' thro', ca thro',
For we hae mickle ado;
Hey, ca' thro', ca' thro',
For we hae mickle ado.

HAD I THE WYTE.

Tune-Had I the wyte she bade me.

HAD I the wyte, had I the wyte,
Had I the wyte she bade me;
She watch'd me by the hie-gate side,
And up the loan she shawed me;
And when I wadna venture in,
A coward loon she ca'd me;
Had kirk and state been in the gate,
I lighted when she bade me.

Sae craftilie she took me ben,

And bade me make nae clatter;
For our ramgunshoch glum gudeman
Is out and owre the water:"
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace
When I did kiss and dawte her
Let him be planted in my place,
Syne say I was the fautor.

The air to which Burns composed this song was called, 'Come kiss wi' me, and clap wi' me, and some of the words may be found in an old lyric, called, Had I the wyte she hade me.'

Could I for shame, could I for shame,
Could I for shame refused her?
And wadna manhood been to blame,
Had I unkindly used her?
He clawed her wi' the ripplin-kame,
And blue and bluidy bruised her;
When sic a husband was frae hame,
What wife but had excused her?

I dighted ay her een sae blue,
And bann'd the cruel randy;
And weel I wat her willing mou'
Was e'en like sugar-candy.
A gloamin-shot it was I trow,
I lighted on the Monday;

But I cam through the Tysday's dew.
To wanton Willie's brandy.

COMING THROUGH THE RYE.

This is altered from an old favourite song of the same name.
Tune-Coming through the Rye.

COMING through the rye, poor body,
Coming through the rye,
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Coming through the rye.

Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;
She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body-
Coming through the rye;
Gin a body kiss a body-
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body

Coming through the glen.

Gin a body kiss a body

Need the world ken?
Jenny's a' wat, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Coming through the rye.

YOUNG JAMIE PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN.

Tune-The carlin o' the glen.

YOUNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain,
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ;
Thro' a' our lasses he did rove,
And reign'd resistless king of love:
But now wi' sighs and starting tears,
He strays amang the woods and briers;
Or in the glens and rocky caves
His sad complaining dowie raves :
I wha sae late did range and rove,
And changed with every moon my love,
I little thought the time was near,
Repentance I should buy sae dear:
The slighted maids my torment see,
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair,
Forbids me e'er to see her mair!

THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN.

This is altered from an old song; the language is rendered more delicate, and the sentiment less warm, than in the original.

Tune-Jacky Latin.

GAT ye me, O gat ye me,

O gat ye me wi' naething?

Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel,

A mickle quarter basin.