Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

O, gear will buy me riggs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
But the tender heart o' leesome luve,
The gowd and siller canna buy:
We may be poor-Robie and I,
Light is the burden luve lays on;
Content and luve bring peace and joy,
What mair hae queens upon a throne?

BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.

Tune-"The sweet lass that lo'es me."

O LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en !
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal-
O leeze me on my spinning wheel.

On ilka hand the burnies trot,
And meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite,
Alike to screen the birdie's nest,
And little fishes' caller rest:

The sun blinks kindly in the biel',
Where blythe I turn my spinning wheel

On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the doolfu' tale;

The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's lays :
The craik amang the claver hay
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,
Aboon distress, below
envy,

O wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great?
Amid their flaring, idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel?

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

Tune-"She's fair and fause."

SHE'S fair and fause that causes my smart,
I lo'ed her meikle and lang;
She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart
And I may e'en gae hang.

A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,

Sae let the bonnie lass gang.

Whae'er ye be that woman love,
To this be never blind,

Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove,
A woman has❜t by kind:

O woman lovely, woman fair!

An angel form's faun to thy share,

'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair,

I mean an angel mind.

WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GRAY.*

Tune-" Duncan Gray."

WEARY fa' you, Duncan Gray—

Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

* Tradition reports this air to have been composed by a carman in Glasgow: so said Dr Blacklock. Be this as it may, the first words were composed by an Aberdonian, who did not choose to leave his name behind him, for reasons which would be satisfactory to every reader of Burns, were I to give the last verse of the old song. Those which will bear handling are as follow:

As I came in by Aberdeen,

Hech hey the girdin o't;

I met a lassie clad in green,

And that's the lang girdin o't.

The brawest lass that e'er was seen,

She might compete wi' Venus queen,
And by the glancin' o' her een,

I kent she knew the girdin o't.

When a' the lave gae to their play,
Then I maun sit the lee lang day,
And jog the cradle wi' my tae,
And a' for the girdin o't.

Bonnie was the Lammas moon-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon-
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Where we were neither heard nor seen,
And that's the lang girdin o't.
There I play'd her Duncan Gray,
Out ower the hills and far away;
The lassie smiled on me right gay,

Then danc'd wi' me the girdin o't.

But when will we twa meet again?
Hech hey the girdin o't;
For o' your company I'm fain,

And that's the lang girdin o't.
Gin ye will play me Duncan Gray,
Out ower the hills and far away,
I will adore you night and day,

And that's the lang girdin o't.

B.

Mr Buchan has furnished us with other two stanzas, which he thinks will bear handling,' but which we, in deference to the taste of the age, decline to touch. By their omission, however, we beg leave to inform our readers, that very little is lost by the oblivion to which we have consigned the remainder of the old ditty, which, like the majority of those of the olden time,' is valuable only as illustrating that freedom of manners and broad humour which obtained among our ancestors. The strains of Burns entirely supersede the course original. This version of Duncan Gray first appeared in Johnson's Museum; but the poet afterwards wrote another version, which he sent to Thomson's work, and which will be found inserted in his correspondence with that gentleman.-M.

The girdin brak, the beast cam down,
I tint my curch, and baith my shoon;
Ah! Duncan, ye're an unco loon-
Wae on the bad girdin o't!

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith—
Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Ise bless you wi' my hindmost breath

Ha, ha, the girdin o't!

Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith,

The beast again can bear us baith,

And auld Mess John will mend the skaith,
And clout the bad girdin o't.

WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MAUT.*

O, WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,
And Rob and Allan cam to see :
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wadna find in Christendie.

We are na fou, we're na that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,

And aye we'll taste the barley bree.

* In convivial and bacchanalian effusions Burns shines unrivalled. The lines commencing, "It is the moon, &c. are quite

superlative.

In the Harp of Caledonia we find an interesting sequel to this Song, by its Editor, Mr Struthers, the author of the "Poor Man's Sabbath," alike creditable to the head and heart of that amiable individual.

The night it flew, the grey cock crew,
Wi' blythesome clap o'er a' the three;
But pleasure beam'd ilk moment new,
And happier still they hop'd to be.

For they were na fou, na, nae that fou,
But just a drap in ilka e'e;