Tune-"Anld Sir Symon."

SIR Wisdom's a fool when he's fou,
Sir Knave is a fool in a session:
He's there but a 'prentice I trow,
But I am a fool by profession.
My grannie she bought me a beuk,
And I held awa to the school;
I fear I my talent misteuk,

But what will ye hae of a fool?
For drink I would venture my neck,
A hizzie's the half o' my craft,
But what could ye other expect,
Of ane that's avowedly daft?

I ance was tied up like a stirk;
For civilly swearing and quaffin'
I auce was abus'd in the kirk,

For touzling a lass i' my daffin.
Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport,
Let naebody name wi' a jeer;
There's ev'n, I'm taught, i the court
A tumbler ca'd the premier.
Observ'd ye, yon reverend lad
Make faces to tickle the mob;
He rails at our mountebank squad-
It's rivalship just i' the job.
And now my conclusion I'll tell,

For faith I'm confoundedly dry; The chiel that's a fool for himsel', Gude Lord! he far dafter than I.

RECITATIVO.

Then neist outspak a raucle carlin,
Wha kent fu' weel to cleek the sterling,
For monie a pursie she had hookit,
And had in mony a well been duckit.
Her dove had been a Highland laddie,
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie!
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began
To wail her braw John Highlandman.

AIR.

Tune-"O an ye were dead Guidman."

I.

A HIGHLAND lad my love was born,
The Lawlan' laws he held in scorn;
But he still was faithfu' to his clan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
CHORUS.

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman!
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman!
There's not a lad in a' the lan'
Was match for my John Highlandman.

II.

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid,
An' gude claymore down by his side,
The ladies hearts he did trepan,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

III.

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey,
An' liv'd like lords and ladies gay;
For a Lawlan's face he feared none,
My gallant, braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

IV.

They banish'd him beyond the sea, But ere the bud was on the tree, Adown my cheek the pearls ran, Embracing my John Highlandman. Sing, hey, &c.

V

But, oh! they catch'd him at the last,
And bound him in a dungeon fast;
My curse upon them every one,
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandman.
Sing, hey, &c.

VI.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle dee
Upon his hunkers bended,
And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face,
And sae the quarrel ended.
But though his little heart did grieve,
When round the tinkler prest her,
He feigned to snirtle in his sleeve,
When thus the caird address'd her.

AIR.

Tune-" Clout the Cauldron."

I.

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,

A tinkler in my station;

I've travell'd round all Christian ground,
In this my occupation.

I've ta'en the gold. I've been enrolled

In many a noble squadron:

But vain they search'd, when off I march'd To go and clout the cauldron.

I've ta'en the gold, &c.

II

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise an' caprin',

An' tak' a share wi' those that bear
The budget an' the apron.

An' by that stoup, my faith and houp,
An' by that dear Kilbaigie,133

If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
May I ne'er wet my craigie.
An' by that stoup, &c.

RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd-the unblushing fair
In his embraces sunk,

Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,
An' partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk, Wish'd unison between the pair, An' made the bottle clunk

To their health that night.

But hurchin Cupid shot a shaft
That play'd a dame a shavie,
The fiddler rak'd her fore and aft,
Behint the chicken cavie.

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,134
Tho' limping with the spavie,
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft,
An' shor'd them Daintie Davie
O' boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade
As ever Bacchus listed,
Though Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it,
He had no wish but-to be glad,
Nor want but-when he thirsted;
He hated nought but-to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested,
His sang that night.

So sung the bard-and Nansie's wa's
Shook with a thunder of applause,

Re-echo'd from each mouth;

They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd their duds,
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,
To quench their lowin' drouth.
Then owre again, the jovial thrang,
The poet did request,

To loose his pack and wale a sang,
A ballad o' the best:

He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs,

Looks round him, an' found them
Impatient for the chorus,

A fig for those by law protected! Liberty's a glorious feast!

Courts for cowards were erected, Churches built to please the priest.

TAM GLEN.

My heart is a-breaking, dear tittie,
Some counsel unto me come len',
To anger them a' is a pity,

But what will I do wi Tam Glen?
I'm thinking, wi sich a braw fellow,
In poortith I might make a fen:
What care I in riches to wallow,

If I maunna marry Tam Glen? There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller,

"Gude day to you, brute," he comes ben: He brags and he biaws o' his siller,

But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

My minnie does constantly deave me,
And bids me beware o' young men:
They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
But wha can think sae o Tam Glen?
My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him,
He'll gie nie guid hunder marks ten:
But, if it's ordain'd I maun tak him,

O wha will I get like Tam Glen?
Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing,
My heart to my mou' gied a sten;
For thrice I crew ane without failing,
And thrice it was written-Tam Glen!
The last Hallowe'en I was waukin',

My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken;
His likeness cam up the house staukin',
And the very grey breeks o' Tam Glen!
Come counsel, dear tittie! don't tarry;
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen,
Gin ye will advise me to marry
The lad I lo'e dearly, Tam Glen.

MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o my kin; But little thinks my luve, I ken brawlie, My tocher's the jewel has charms for him, It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree; It's a' for the himney he'll cherish the bee; My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller, He canna hoe luvé to spare for me. Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny, My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin',

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're like te the bark o yon rotten tree,

Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, And ye'll crack your credit wi' inae nor me,

THEN GUIDWIFE COUNT THE LAWIN.

GANE is the day and mirk's the night,
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light,
For ale and brandy s stars and moon,
And bluid red wine's the risin' sun,

Then, Guidwife, count the lawin', the lawin', the lawin',

Then, guidwife, count the lawin', and bring a coggie mair.

There's wealth an' ease for gentlemen,

And semple-folk maun fecht and feu';

But here we're a' in ac accord,

For ilka man that's drunk's a lord.

Then guidwife count, &c.

My coggie is a haly pool,

That heals the wounds o' care and dool;

WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO WI' AN AULD MAN.

WHAT can a young lassie, what shall a young lassic,

What can a young lassic do wi' an auld man?
Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' lan';
Bad luck on the pennie, &c.

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin',
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang;
He's doy'lt and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen,
O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man!
He hums and he hankers, he frets and he can-
kers;

I never can please him, do a' that I can; He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young fellows,

O, dool on the day, I met wi' an auld man!

My auld auntie Katie upon me takes pity,
I'll do my endeavour to follow her plan;
I'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-
break him,
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan.

THE BONNIE WEE THING. BONNIE Wee thing, cannie wee thing. Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine; I wad wear thee in my bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine! Wistfully I look and languish,

In that bonnic face of thine:

And my heart it stounds wi' anguish, Lest my wee thing be na mine.

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty,
In ae constellation shine;

To adore thee is my duty,
Goddess o' this soul o' mine!
Bonnie wee, &c.

O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM!
Tune-"The Moudiewort."

AN' O, for ane and twenty, Tam!
An' hey, sweet ane and twenty, Tam!
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam!

They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam!

But three short years will soon wheel roun'-
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam!

An' O, for ane, &c.

A glieb o' lan', a claut o' gear,
Was left me by my auntie, Tam:
At kith or kin I need na spier,

An' I saw ane and twenty, Tam!
An' O, for ane, &c.

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Tho' I myself hae plenty, Tam;
But hear'st thou laddie, -there's my loof,-
I'm thine at ane and twenty, Tam!
An' O, for ane, &c.

BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
O, LEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O, leeze me on my rock and reel;
Frae tap to tac 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 thy 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 jinkling 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 Bessie at her spinning wheel.

COUNTRY LASSIE.

IN simmer when the hay was mawn,
And corn way'd green in ilka field,
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel,

Says, "I'll be wed come o't what will;" Out spake a dame in wrinkled eild,

"O' gude advisement comes nae ill." "Its ye hae wooers mony a ane,

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhic ben:
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak this frae me, my bonnie hen,
It's plenty beets the luver's fire."
"For Johnnie o'er the Buskie-glen,
I dinna care a single flie;

He lo es sae weel his scraps and kye,
He has nae luve to spare for me:
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's c'e,
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear:
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear.'

"O thoughtless lassie! life's a faught, The canniest gate, the strife is sair; But aye fu' han't is fechtin' best,

A hungry care's an unco care:

But some will spend, and some will spare, And wilfu' folk maun hae their will; Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill."

"O gear will buy me rigs 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 love brings peace and joy-
What mair hae queens upon a throne ?"

FAIR ELIZA.

A GAELIC AIR.

TURN again, thon fair Eliza,

Ae kind blink before we part, Rew on thy despairing lover! Canst thou break his faithfu' heart? Turn again, thou fair Eliza;

If to love thy heart denies, For pity hide the cruel sentence

Under friendship's kind disguise!

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended?
The offence is loving thee:
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever,
Wha for thine wad gladly die?
While the life beats in my bosom,

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe:
Turn again, thou lovely maiden,

Ae sweet smile on me bestow!
Not the bee upon the bosom,
In the pride o' sinny noon;
Not the little sporting fairy,

All beneath the simmer moon;
Not the poet in the moment
Fancy lightens on his e'e,
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture
That thy presence gies to me.

THE POSIE.

Oн, Lave will venture in, where it dare na well be seen,

Oh, love will venture in where wisdom ance has been:

But I will down yon river rove, among the wood sae green

And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May.

I'll pu' the budding rose, when Phoebus peeps in view,

For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie

THE BANKS O' DOON.

YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair;
How can ye chant ye little birds,

And I sae weary fu' o' care;

Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird,
That wantons thro' the flowering thorn;"
Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed-never to return.

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon,

To see the rose and woodbine twine;
And ilka bird sang o' its luve,
And, fondly, sae did I o' mine.

Wr lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu sweet upon its thorny three: And my fause lover stole my rose, But ah! he left the thorn wi' me.

SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. WILLIE WASTLE dwalt on Tweed,

The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie; Willie was a wabster guid,

Could stown a clue wi' ony bodie;
He had a wife was dour and din,

O, Tinkler Madgie was her mither-
Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her.

She had an e'e-she has but ane,
The cat has twa the very colour;
Five rusty 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, &c.

She's bow-hough'd, she's heinshinned,
Ae limpin' leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter:
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o' that upon her shouther;
Sic a wife, &c.

Auld baudrons by the ingle sits,
An' wi' her loof her face a-washin';'
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion: Her wailie neives like midden creels, Her face wad fyle the Logan Water; Sic a wife as Willie had,

I wad na gie a button for her.

GLOOMY DECEMBER.

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December, Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; Sad was the parting thou mak'st me remember, Pa ting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair! Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour; But the dire feeling, Oh! farewell for ever,

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, "Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown, Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, Since my last hope and last comfort is gone! Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December. Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care; For sad was the parting thou mak`st mè remember, Parting wi' Nancy, Oh! ne'er to meet mair.

EVAN BANKS.

SLOW Spreads the gloom my soul desires,
The sun from India's shore retires;
To Evan banks, with temp'rate ray,
Home of my youth, it leads the day.
Oh! banks to me for ever dear!

Oh! streams whose murmurs still I hear!
Ah! all my hopes of bliss reside.
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde.
And she, in simple beauty drest,
Whose image lives within my breast;
Who trembling heard my piercing sigh,
And long pursu'd me with her eye!
Does she, with heart unchang'd as mine,
Oft in the vocal bowers recline?
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide,
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde ?

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound!
Ye lavish woods that wave around,
And o'er the stream your shadows throw,
Which sweetly winds so far below;

WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE? WILT thou be my dearie?

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, O wilt thou let me cheer thee?

By the treasure of my soul,
And that the love I bear thee!

I swear and vow, that only thou
Shall ever be my dearie.
Only thou, I swear and vow,
Shall ever be my dearie.

Lassie, say thou lo'es me:

Or, if thou wilt na be my ain,
Sae na thou'lt refuse me:
If it winna, canna be,
Thon for thine, may choose me:
Let me, lassie, quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me,
Lassie, let me quickly die,
Trusting that thou lo'es me.

SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE.

SHE'S fair and fanse 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' roth o' gear,
And I hae tint my dearest dear,
But woman is but warld's gear,
Sae let the bonnie lass gang.
Whate'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 fa'n to thy share,
"Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair-
I mean an angel mind.