OH, WHAT A PARISH! ADAM CRAWFORD. Tune-" Bonnie Dundee." O, what a parish, what a terrible parisk, Dung down the steeple, and drucken the bell! THOUGH the steeple was doun, the kirk was still stannin ; They biggit a lum where the bell used to hang; A stel-pat they gat, and they brewed Hieland whisky: On Sundays they drank it, and rantit and sang! O, what a parish, &c. Oh, had you but seen how gracefu' it luikit, To see the crammed pews sae socially join! Macdonald, the piper, stuck up i' the poupit, He made the pipes skirl sweet music divine! O, what a parish, &c. When the heart-cheerin spirit had mountit the garret, To a ball on the green they a' did adjourn; Maids, wi' their coats kiltit, they skippit and liltit; When tired, they shook hands, and a hame did return. O, what a parish, &c. Wad the kirks in our Britain haud sic social meetings, Nae warning they'd need frae a far-tinkling bell; For true love and friendship wad ca' them thegither, Far better than roaring o' horrors o' hell.* O, what parish, &c. OLD KING COUL. OLD King Coul was a jolly old soul, And old King Coul he had a brown bowl, three: And there's no a lass in a' Scotland, Compared to our sweet Marjorie. Old King Coul was a jolly old soul, And a jolly old soul was he; Old King Coul was a jolly old soul, Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl, And they brought him in drummers three: Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, went the drummers; Twarra-rang, twarra rang, went the trumpeters; Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers; Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the pipers; Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three: And there's no a lass in a' the land, POVERTY PARTS GUDE COMPANIE. JOANNA BAILLIE. Tune-" Todlin hame." Crawford, the inditer of this curious frolic, was a WHEN white was my o'erlay as foam o' the linn, tailor in Edinburgh, and the author of some other good And siller was clinkin' my pouches within⚫ songs. When my lambkins were bleating on meadow | His boots they were made of the jag, When he went to the weapon-shaw; And was not Willie weel worth gowd? He kiss'd the lasses haill-sale a'. Sae merrily round the ring they row'd, And was na Willie a great loun, As shyre a lick as e'er was seen? Gae ca' the bride and maidens in, For Willie he dow do na mair. Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out, And for a wee fill up the ring; Says, Weel's me on your bonny face: Oh, Willie has a wanton leg! While kebbuck and bicker were set on the We will find nae sic dancin' here, board; But now they pass by me, and never a word. So let it be, For the worldly and slie Wi' poverty keep nae companie. If we want Willie's wanton fling. WILLIE WAS A WANTON WAG. WILLIAM WALKINGSHAW OF WALKINGSHAW. Tune-" Willie was a wanton Wag." WILLIE was a wanton wag, And carried aye the gree awa. That pleased the lasses best of a'. He was a man without a clag; His heart was frank, without a flaw; And aye whatever Willie said, It still was hadden as a law. THE AULD MAN'S MEAR'S DEAD. Tune-" The auld man's mear's dead." The auld man's mear's dead; THERE was hay to ca', and lint to lead, She had the fiercie and the fleuk, From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. As it is there signed by the initials of the author, there arises a presumption that he was alive, and a friend of Ramsay, at the period of the publication of that work. Symon Brodie had a wife, And, wow! but she was braw and bonnie; NEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO Tune-" Farwell to Whisky." You've surely heard o' famous Neil, The late Rev. Mr. Clunie, minister of the parish of Borthwick, near Edinburgh, (who was so enthusias tically fond of singing Scottish songs, that he used to hang his watch round the candle on Sunday evenings, and wait anxiously till the conjunction of the hands at 12 o'clock permitted him to break out in one of his favourite ditties), was noted for the admirable manner in which he sung " Bonny Dundee," "Waly, waly, up yon bank," The Auld Man's Mear's dead," with many other old Scottish ditties. One day, happening to meet with some friends at a tavern in Dalkeith, he was solicited to favour the company with the latter humorous ditty; which he was accordingly singing with his usual effect and brilliancy, when the woman who kept the house thrust her head in at the door, and added, at the conclusion of one of the choruses, "Od, the auld man's mear's dead, sure eneuch. Your horse, minister, has hanged itsell at my door." Such was really the fact. The minister, on going into the house, had tied his horse by a rope to a hook, or ring, near the door, and as he was induced to stay much longer than he intended, the poor animal, either through exhaustion, or a sudden fit of disease, fell down, and was strangled. He was so much mortified by this unhappy Alake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and auld, accident, the coincidence of which with the subject of And find my blude grow unco cauld; his song was not a little striking, that, all his life after, I think 'twad make me blythe and bauld, he could never be persuaded to sing "The Auld Man's A wee drap Highland whisky, O. Mear's dead" again And dearly loe'd the whisky, O. To play farewell to whisky, O. Yet the doctors they do a' agree, Though I can baith get wine and ale, Forbid like Highland whisky, O. Come, a' ve powers o' music, come; To say, Fareweel to whisky, O. On gude auld Highland whisky, O. THE LAMMIE. HECTOR MACNEILL. Tune-" Whar hae ye been a' day.” WHAR hae ye been a' day, My boy Tammy? I've been by burn and flow'ry orae, Just come frae her mammy. And whar gat ye that young thing, I got her down in yonder howe, For her poor mammy. What said ye to the bonnie bairn, I praised her een, sae lovely blue, She said she'd tell her mammy. I held her to my beating heart, My young, my smiling lammie! I maunna leave my mammy. We'll tak her hame and mak her fain, My ain kind-hearted lammie. Has she been to the kirk wi' thee, She has been to the kirk wi' me, THE WEE WIFIKIE. DR. A. GEDDES. Tune" The wee bit Wifikie." THERE was a wee bit wifikie was comin' frae the fair, Had got a wee bit drappikie, that bred her muckle care; It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew. O! quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou. I wish I binna fou, I wish I binna fou, If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my skin; But I'll lie doun and tak a nap before that I gae in. Sittin' at the dyke-side, and takin' o' her nap, By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack. Wi' a little pack, quo she, wi' a little pack, By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack. He's clippit a' her gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae lang; He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa he ran : And when the wife wakened, her head was like a bee, • A Jacobite allusion, probably to the change of the a real person, and married, some time during the seStuart for the Brunswick dynasty, in 1714. venteenth century, to the representative of the attainted family of Logan of Restalrig, whose town-house, dated 1636, is still pointed out at the head of a street in Leith, called the Sheriff-brae. The marriage-contract between Logan and Isabella Fowler is still extant, in the possession of a gentleman resident at Leith.➡ | See Campbell's History of Leith, note, p. 314. |