The Tea-Table Miscellany. ALLAN RAMSAY, THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ^_JS - > : ' *^% ■*mg~ ■■• v^m - • 4& N BRANCH, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES. CALIF. Cl)e CeaCatile a&igcelianp VOLUME FIRST Cbe €ea=€afile egiscellanp A COLLECTION OF f)oue cmgs SCOTS & ENGLISH By ALLAN RAMSAY Keprintea from tfjt JFourtemtrj Litton IN TWO VOLUMES Volume First » v » » J O " (j " I <$laggoto JOHN CRUM, ST. VINCENT STREET 187 1 i. *•* *\ / *■« m i «. t C C €* t « *. i Printed by R. Clark, Edinburgh. For Reading Room Only i DEDICATION. V •> • • C ■/ 4. > To ilka lovely British lafs, Frae Ladies Charlotte, Anne, and Jean, Down to ilk bonny finging Befs, Wha dances barefoot on the green. Dear Lasses, YOUR moft humble Have, Wha ne'er to ferve you fhall decline, Kneeling, wad your acceptance crave, When he prefents this fma propine. Then take it kindly to your care, Revive it with your tunefu' notes : Its beauties will look fweet and fair, Arifing faftly through your throats. The wanton wee thing will rejoice, When tented by a fparkling eye, The fpinet tinkling with her voice, It lying on her lovely knee. vi DEDICATION. While kettles dringe on ingles dour, Or clafhes ftay the lazy lafs ; Thir fangs may ward you frae the four, And gaily vacant minutes pafs. E'en while the tea's fill'd reeking round, Rather than plot a tender tongue, Treat a' the circling lugs wi' found, Syne fafely fip when ye have fung. May happinefs had up your hearts, And warm you lang with loving fires : May pow'rs propitious play their parts, In matching you to your defires. A. RAMSAY. Edinburgh, Jan. i, 1724. PREFACE. —>»•* (. ALTHOUGH it be acknowledged that our Scots tunes have not lengthened variety of mufic, yet they have an agreeable gaiety and natural fweetnefs, that make them acceptable wherever they are known, not only among ourfelves, but in other countries. They are, for the moll part, fo chearful, that, on hearing them well played, or fung, we find a difficulty to keep ourfelves from dancing. What fur- ther adds to the efteem we have for them, is their antiquity, and their being univer- fally known. Mankind's love for novelty would appear to contradict this reafon ; but will not, when we confider, that for one that can tolerably entertain with vocal or inftrumental mufic, there are fifty that content themfelves with the pleafure of hearing, and finging without the trouble of being taught. Now, fuch are not judges of the fine flourifhes of new mufic vm PREFACE. imported from Italy and elfewhere, yet will liflen with pleafure to tunes that they know, and can join with in the chorus. Say that our way is only an harmonious fpeaking of merry, witty, or foft thoughts, after the poet has dreffed them in four or five ftanzas ; yet undoubtedly thefe muft relifh beft with people who have not beftowed much of their time in acquiring a tafte for that downright perfeci mufic, which requires none, or very little of the poet's affiftance. My being well affured how acceptable new words to known tunes would prove, engaged me to the making verfes for above fixty of them, in this and the fecond volume : about thirty more were done by fome ingenious young gentlemen, who were fo well pleafed with my undertaking, that they generoufly lent me their affiftance ; and to them the lovers of fenfe and mufic are obliged for fome of the beft fongs in the collection. The reft are fuch old verfes as have been done time out of mind, and only wanted to be cleared from PREFACE. ix the drofs of blundering tranfcribers and printers ; fuch as, The Gaberlunzieman, Muirland Willy, &c, that claim their place in our collection for their merry images of the low character. This fourteenth edition, in a few years, and the general demand for the book by perfons of all ranks, where-ever our lan- guage is underftood, is a fure evidence of its being acceptable. My worthy friend Dr. Bannerman tells me from America, Nor only do your lays der Britain flow, Round all the globe your happy fonnets go ; Here thy /oft verfe, made to a Scottifh air, Are often fung by our Virginian fair. Camilla's warbling notes are heard no more, But yield to Laft time I came o'er the moor ; Hydafpes and Rinaldo both give way To Mary Scott, Tweedfide, and Mary Gray. From this and the following volume, Mr. Thomfon (who is allowed by all to be a good teacher and finger of Scots fongs) culled his Orpheus Caledonius, the mufic for both the voice and flute, and the words of the fongs finely engraven in a folio PREFACE. book, for the ufe of perfons of the higheft quality in Britain, and dedicated to the late Queen. This, by the bye, I thought proper to intimate, and do myfelf that juftice which the publifher neglected ; fince he ought to have acquainted his illuftrious lift of fubfcribers, that the moft of the fongs were mine, the mufic abftracted. In my compohtions and collections, I have kept out all fmut and ribaldry, that the modeft voice and ear of the fair finger might meet with no affront ; the chief bent of all my ftudies being to gain their good graces ; and it fhall always be my care to ward off thofe frowns that would prove mortal to my mufe. Now, little books, go your ways; be affured of favourable reception, where-ever the fun mines on the free-born chearful Briton ; fteal yourfelves into the ladies' bofoms. Happy volumes ! you are to live too as long as the fong of Homer in Greek and EngliJJi, and mix your afhes only with the odes of Horace. Were it but my fate, PREFACE. xi when old and ruffled, like you to be again reprinted, what a curious figure would I appear on the utmoft limits of time, after a thoufand editions ? Happy volumes ! you are fecure ; but I muft yield, pleafe the ladies, and take care of my fame. In hopes of this, fearlefs of coming age, I'll fmile thro' life ; and when for rhyme renown'd, I'll calmly quit the farce and giddy ftage, And fleep beneath a flow'ry turf full found. INDEX Beginning with thefirjl line of every Song. The Songs marked C, D, H, L, M, O, &c, are new words by different hands ; X, the authors un- known ; Z, old fongs ; Q, old fongs with ad- ditions. ACOCK laird fou cadgie . A Southland Jenny that was right bonny Adieu, for a while, my native green plains Adieu, ye pleafant fports and plays Ah, Chloe ! thou treafure, thou joy, &c. . Ah ! Chloris, cou'd I now but fit . Ah ! the fhepherd's mournful fate . Ah ! why thofe tears in Nelly's eyes ? A lovely lafs to a friar came . Altho' I be but a country-lafs And I'll o'er the moor to Maggy . An I'll awa to bonny Tweedfide As early I walk'd, on the firft of fweet May As from a rock paft all relief . As I came in by Teviot-fide . As I fat at my fpinning-wheel As I went forth to view the fpring . As Sylvia in a foreft lay As walking forth to view the plain At Polwart on the Green At fetting day and rifmg morn Auld Rob Morris that wins in yon glen . 204 192 138 184 35 47 9i 90 39 177 66 142 172 53 195 180 101 61 68 67 219 59 xiv INDEX. PAGE Balow, my boy, lie flill and fleep . . .125 Beauty from fancy takes its arms . . .117 Beneath a beech's grateful fhade . . -73 Beneath a green fhade I fand a fair maid . 78 Beffy's beauties fhine fae bright . . .101 Blate Jonny faintly tald fair Jean his mind . 25 Blefs'd as th' immortal gods is he . . 113 Blyth Jocky young and gay . . . .158 Bright Cynthia's power divinely great . . 36 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my bonny bride . . .139 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my bonny bonny bride . 235 By a murmuring ftream a fair fhepherdefs lay . 1 7 By fmooth winding Tay a fwain was reclining . 6& By the delicious warmnefs of thy mouth . . 77 Cauld be the rebels caft . . . .212 Celeftial mufes, tune your lyres . . .29 Come, fill me a bumper, my jolly brave boys . 49 Come, Florinda, lovely charmer . . .165 Come, here's to the nymph that I love . . 166 Come let's hae mair wine in . . .26 Confefs thy love, fair blufhing maid . .123 Dear Roger, if your Jenny geek . . .210 Dumbarton's drums beat bonny — O . . 50 Duty and part of reafon . . . .217 Fair, fweet, and young, receive a prize . 193 Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean . 114 For the fake of fomebody . . . .191 Fy let us a' to the bridal . . . -85 Gi'e me a lafs with a lump of land . . .118 Gin ye meet a bonny laffie . . . .76 Happy's the love which meets return . . 64 Harken, and I will tell you how ... 7 INDEX. xv Have you any pots or pans . Hear me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry fwain Hid from himfelf, now by the dawn Honeft man, John Ochiltree . How blyth ilk morn was I to fee . How happy is the rural clown How fhall I be fad when a hufband I hae How fweetly fmells the fimmer green ! I have a green purfe, and a wee pickle gowd I tofs and tumble through the night I was anes a well tocher'd lafs I will awa' wi' my love .... I yield, dear laflie, ye have won If love's a fweet paffion, why does it torment 1 In April, when primrofes paint the fweet plain In January laft ..... In vain, fond youth ; thy tears give o'er . In winter when the rain rain'd cauld Is Hamilla then my own 1 It was the charming month of May Jocky fou, Jenny fain .... Jocky met with Jenny fair Jocky faid to Jeany, Jeany, wilt thou do't Laffie, lend me your braw hemp heckle Late in an evening forth I went Leave kindred and friends, fweet Betty Let meaner beauties ufe their art . Let's be jovial, fill our glaffes Look where my dear Hamilla fmiles Love never more fhall give me pain Love's goddefs in a myrtle grove . March, march .... My dear and only love, I pray PAGE 99 2 214 I30 13 I96 211 I 176 I46 20I 65 212 129 43 133 37 109 5 124 187 185 72 35 115 29 220 6 18 56 44 137 106 XVI INDEX. My Jeany and I have toil'd . My Jocky blyth, for what thou'ft done My mither's ay glowran o'er me My Patie is a lover gay My Peggy is a young thing . My foger laddie is over the fea My fweeteft May, let love incline thee Nanfy's to the Greenwood gane Now all thy virgin-fweets are mine Now from rufticity, and love . Now Phoebus advances on high Now fpring begins her fmiling round Now the fun's gane out o' fight Now wat ye wha I met yeftreen O Bell, thy looks have kill'd my heart O Beffy Bell and Mary Gray . O come away, come away O dear Peggy, love's beguiling O had away, had away . O Jeany, Jeany, where has thou been ? O lovely maid, how dear's thy pow'r 1 O Mary ! thy graces and glances . O mither dear, I 'gin to fear . O Sandy, why leaves thou thy Nelly to O (leer her up, and had her gawn . O virgin kind ! we canna tell O waly, waly up the bank O wha's that at my chamber door 1 Of all the birds whofe tuneful throats Of race divine thou needs muft be . One day I heard Mary fay Over the mountains Pain'd with her flighting Jamie's love Peggy, now the king's come . mourn PAGE I63 60 139 209 205 72 20 l8l 2l6 95 152 75 62 54 159 211 159 202 15 92 131 45 98 200 179 161 132 70 135 171 52 213 INDEX. xvn Return hameward, my heart, again Rob's Jock came to woo our Jenny- Sandy in Edinburgh was born Saw ye Jenny Nettles . Should auld acquaintance be forgot Since all thy vows, falfe maid Sonmolente, qucefo, repeiite Sound, found the mulic, found it Speak on, — fpeak thus, and ftill my grief Stately ftept he eaft the wa' . Subjected to the power of love Sweet Sir, for your courtefie . Swift, Sandy, Young, and Gay Teach me, Chloe, how to prove Tell me, Hamilla, tell me why Tell me, tell me, charming creature The bonny grey-ey'd morning begins to peep The carle he came o'er the croft . The collier has a daughter The dorty will repent . The laird who in riches and honour The lafs of Peaty's Mill The laft time I came o'er the moor The lawland lads think they are fine The lawland maids gang trig and fine The maltman comes on Munday . The meal was dear fhort fyne The morn was fair, faft was the air The night her filent fable wore The pawky auld carle came o'er the lee The fhepherd Adonis The fun was funk beneath the hill . The widow can bake, and the widow can brew The yellow-hair'd laddie fat down on yon brae There was a wife won'd in a glen . 94 174 186 5i 140 136 206 217 223 3° 57 no 17 3i 37 220 121 89 210 212 41 40 87 iS7 100 26 149 128 80 119 145 156 193 103 XVI 11 INDEX. This is not mine ain houfe . Tho' beauty like the rofe Tho' for feven years and mair, honour, &c. Thus let's ftudy night and day Tibby has a (lore of charms . 'Tis I have feven braw new gowns . 'Tis not your beauty, nor your wit . 'Twas at the fearful midnight hour . 'Twas fummer, and the day was fair Upon a fair morning, for foft recreation Well, I agree, you're fure of me Were I affur'd you'll conftant prove What beauties does Flora difclofe 1 What means this nicenefs now of late What numbers fhall the mufe repeat ? When abfent from the nymph I love When beauty blazes heavenly bright When firft my dear laddie gade to the green hill When flow'ry meadows deck the year When hope was quite funk in defpair When innocent paftime our pleafure did crown When I think on my lad When I've a faxpence under my thumb When Phoebus bright the azure ikies When fummer comes, the fwains on Tweed When trees did bud, and fields were green When we came to London town When we meet again, Phely . Where wad bonny Annie lie 1 While fops in faft Italian verfe While our flocks are a-feeding While fome for pleafure pawn their health Why hangs that cloud upon thy brow 1 Will ye go to the ew-bughts, Marion ? Willy, ne'er enquire what end 93 3 55 194 74 22 162 T 43 38 107 216 215 4 59 88 120 167 213 11 218 33 96 161 188 150 46 32 10 83 23 169 44 12 84 155 INDEX. xix Willy was a wanton wag With broken words, and downcafl eyes With tuneful pipe and hearty glee . Ye blytheft lads and laffes gay Ye gales that gently wave the fea . Ye gods ! was Strephon's picture blefl Ye powers ! was Damon then fo bleft Ye fhepherds and nymphs that adorn, &c Ye watchful guardians of the fair . Young Philander woo'd me lang . 197 79 147 203 19 i5 10 48 42 199 ^fe A jfe .& & 4* # ■#■ •# # # # # ■#■ •# # ■# ■#• # •#• •& ifiiifiiiiiili'Illiiii # # # #" # #" # ▼ ▼ V ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ ▼ V 4* A COLLECTION OF CHOICE SONGS Bonny Christy. HOW fweetly fmells the fimmer green ! Sweet tafte the peach and cherry : Painting and order pleafe our een, And claret makes us merry : But fineft colours, fruits, and flowers, And wine, tho' I be thirfty, Lofe a' their charms, and weaker powers, Compar'd with thofe of Chrifty. When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park, No nat'ral beauty wanting, How lightfome is't to hear the lark, And birds in concert chanting ? But if my Chrifty tunes her voice, I'm rapt in admiration ; My thoughts with ecftafies rejoice, And drap the haill creation. Whene'er flie fmiles a kindly glance, I take the happy omen, And aften mint to make advance, Hoping (he'll prove a woman : B A COLLECTION But, dubious of my ain defert, My fentiments I fmother ; With fecret fighs I vex my heart, For fear fhe love another. Thus fang blate Edie by a burn, His Chrifty did o'er-hear him ; She doughtna let her lover mourn, But ere he wift drew near him. She fpake her favour with a look, Which left nae room to doubt her : He wifely this white minute took, And flang his arms about her. My Chrifty ! witnefs, bonny ftream, Sic joys frae tears arifmg, I wifh this may na be a dream ; O love the maift furprifmg ! Time was too precious now for tauk ; This point of a' his wifhes, He wadna with fet fpeeches bauk, But war'd it a' on kiffes. The Bufli aboon Traquair. HEAR me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry fwain, I'll tell how Peggy grieves me, Tho' thus I languifh, thus complain, Alas ! fhe ne'er believes me. My vows and fighs, like filent air, Unheeded never move her ; At the bonny bufh aboon Traquair, 'Twas there I firfl did love her. That day fhe fmil'd, and made me glad, No maid feem'd ever kinder ; I thought myfelf the luckieft lad, So fweetly there to find her. OF CHOICE SONGS. I try'd to footh my am'rous flame, In words that I thought tender ; If more there paff'd, I'm not to blame, I meant not to offend her. Yet now fhe fcornful flees the plain, The fields we then frequented ; If e'er we meet, fhe fhows difdain, She looks as ne'er acquainted. The bonny bufh bloom'd fair in May, Its fweets I'll ay remember, But now her frowns make it decay, It fades as in December. Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my ftrains, Why thus fhould Peggy grieve me ! Oh ! make her partner in my pains, Then let her fmiles relieve me. If not, my love will turn defpair, My paffion no more tender. I'll leave the bufh aboon Traquair, To lonely wilds I'll wander. C. An ODE. Tune — Polwart o?i the Green. THO' beauty, like the rofe That fmiles on Polwart green, In various colours fhows, As 'tis by fancy feen : Yet all its diff'rent glories ly, United in thy face, And virtue, like the fun on high, Gives rays to ev'ry grace. A COLLECTION So charming is her air, So fmooth, fo calm her mind, That to fome angel's care Each motion feems affign'd : But yet fo chearful, fprightly, gay, The joyful moments fly, As if for wings they ftole the ray She darteth from her eye. Kind am'rous Cupids, while With tuneful voice fhe fings, Perfume her breath and fmile, And wave their balmy wings : But as the tender blufhes rife, Soft innocence doth warm, The foul in blifsful ecftafies Diffolveth in the charm. Tweed-Side. TXTHAT beauties does Flora difclofe 1 * V How fweet are her fmiles upon Tweed 1 Yet Mary's ftill fweeter than thofe ; Both nature and fancy exceed. Nor daify, nor fweet-blufhing rofe, Not all the gay flow'rs of the field, Not Tweed gliding gently through thofe, Such beauty and pleafure does yield. The warblers are heard in the grove, The linnet, the lark, and the thrum, The blackbird, and fweet-cooing dove, With mufic enchant ev'ry bufh. Come, let us go forth to the mead, Let us fee how the primrofes fpring, We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks fin?. OF CHOICE SONGS. How does my love pafs the long day 1 Does Mary not 'tend a few fheep ? Do they never careleffly ftray, While happily fhe lies afleep 1 Tweed's murmurs mould lull her to reft ; Kind nature indulging my blifs, To relieve the foft pains of my breaft, I'd fteal an ambrofial kifs. 'Tis (he does the virgins excel, No beauty with her may compare ; Love's graces all round her do dwell, She's faireft where thoufands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks ftray 1 Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed ; Shall I feek them on fweet winding Tay, Or the pleafanter banks of the Tweed 1 SONG. Tune — Wo's my heart that we Jhoidd f under. IS Hamilla then my own 1 O ! the dear, the charming treafure : Fortune now in vain fhall frown ; All my future life is pleafure. See how rich with youthful grace, Beauty warms her ev'ry feature ; Smiling heav'n is in her face, All is gay, and all is nature. See what mingling charms arife, Rofy fmiles, and kindling blufhes ; Love fits laughing in her eyes, And betrays her fecret wifhes. A COLLECTION Hafte then from the Idalian grove, Infant fmiles, and fports, and graces ; Spread the downy couch for love, And lull us in your fweet embraces. Softeft raptures, pure from noife, This fair happy night furround us ; While a thoufand fprightly joys Silent nutter all around us. Thus unfour'd with care or ftrife, Heav'n ftill guard this deareft bleffing ! While we tread the path of life, Loving ftill, and ftill poffeffmg. S. SONG. LET'S be jovial, fill our glaffes, Madnefs 'tis for us to think, How the world is rul'd by affes, And the wife are fway'd by chink. Fa, la, ra, &c. Then never let vain cares opprefs us, Riches are to them a fnare, We're ev'ry one as rich as Croefus, While our bottle drowns our care. Fa, la, ra, &c. Wine will make us red as rofes, And our forrows quite forget : Come let us fuddle all our nofes, Drink ourfelves quite out of debt. Fa, la, ra, &c. When grim death is looking for us, We are toping at our bowls, Bacchus joining in the chorus : Death, be gone, here's none but fouls. Fa, la, ra, &c. OF CHOICE SONGS. God-like Bacchus thus commanding, Trembling death away mail fly, Ever after understanding, Drinking fouls can never die. Fa, la, ra, &c. Muirland Willie. TT ARKEN, and I will tell you how ** ■*■ . Young muirland Willie came to woo, Though he could neither fay nor do, The truth I tell to you. But ay he cries, Whate'er betide, Maggy I'fe ha'e to be my bride. With afal, dal, &c. On his gray yade as he did ride, With durk and piftol by his fide, He prick'd her on wi' meikle pride, Wi' meikle mirth and glee. Out o'er yon mofs, out o'er yon muir, Till he came to her daddy's door. With afal, dal, &c. Goodman, quoth he, be ye within ? I'm come your doughter's love to win, I care na for making meikle din ; What anfwer gi'e ye me 1 Now, wooer, quoth he, wou'd ye light down, I'll gi'e ye my doughter's love to win. With afal, dal, &c. Now, wooer, fin ye are lighted down, Where do ye win, or in what town 1 I think my doughter winna gloom On fie a lad as ye. A COLLECTION The wooer he flept up the houfe, And wow but he was wond'rous croufe. With afal, dal, &c. I have three owfen in a plough, Twa good ga'en yads, and gear enough ; The place they ca' it Cadeneugh : I fcorn to tell a lie. Befides, I ha'e frae the great laird, A peat-pat, and a lang kail-yard. With afal, dal, &c. The maid pat on her kirtle brown, She was the brawefl in a' the town ; I wat on him fhe did na gloom, But blinkit bonnilie. The lover he Mended up in hafle, And gript her hard about the wafte. With afal, dal, &c. To win your love, maid, I'm come here ; I'm young, and ha'e enough o' gear ; And for myfell you need na fear, Troth try me whan ye like. He took aff his bonnet, and fpat in his chow, He dighted his gab, and he pri'd her mou'. With afal, dal, &c. The maiden blufhed, and bing'd fu' la', She had na will to fay him na, But to her daddy fhe left it a', As they twa cou'd agree. The lover he gae her the tither kifs, Syne ran to her daddy, and tell'd him this. With afal, dal, &c. Your doughter wad na fay me na, But to yourfell fhe has left it a', As we could 'gree between us twa ; Say, what'U ye gi'e me wi' her ? OF CHOICE SONGS. Now, wooer, quo' he, I ha'e nae meikle, But fic's I ha'e ye's get a pickle. With a fat, dal, &c. A kilnfu' of corn I'll gi'e to thee, Three foums of fheep, twa good milk ky, Ye's ha'e the wadding dinner free ; Troth I dow do na mair. Content, quo' he, a bargain be't ; I'm far frae hame, make hafte let's do't. With a fat, dal, &c. The bridal-day it came to pafs, With mony a blythfome lad and lafs ; But ficken a day there never was, Sic mirth was never feen. This winfome couple ftraked hands, Mefs John ty'd up the marriage bands. With a fat, dal, &c. And our bride's maidens were na few, Wi' tap-knots, lug-knots, a' in blew, Frae tap to tae they were braw new, And blinkit bonnilie. Their toys and mutches were fae clean, They glanced in our ladfes' een. With a fat, dal, &c. Sic hirdum, dirdum, and fie din, Wi' he o'er her, and fhe o'er him ; The minftrels they did never blin, Wi' meikle mirth and glee. And ay they bobit, and ay they beckt, And ay their wames together met. With a fat, dal, &c. io A COLLECTION The Promis'd Joy. Tune — Carl an the King come. Jyfy^HEN we meet again, Phely, * * When we meet again, Phely, Raptures will reward our pain, And lofs refult in gain, Phely. Long the fport of fortune driv'n, To defpair our thoughts were giv'n, Our odds will all be ev'n, Phely. When we meet again, Phely, &C. Now in dreary diftant groves, Though we moan like turtle-doves, Suft'ring beft our virtue proves, And will enhance our loves, Phely. When we meet again, Phely, drc. Joy will come in a furprife, Till its happy hour arife ; Temper well your love-fick fighs, For hope becomes the wife, Phely. When we meet again, Phely, When we meet again, Phely, Raptures will reward our pain, And lofs refult in gain, Phely. To Delia, on her drawing him to her Valentine. Tune — Black-ey'd Sufan. YE powers ! was Damon then fo bleft, To fall to charming Delia's fhare ; Delia, the beauteous maid, poffeft Of all that's foft, and all that's fair? OF CHOICE SONGS. n Here ceafe thy bounty, O indulgent heav'n ! I afk no more, for all my wifh is giv'n. I came, and Delia fmiling fhow'd, She fmil'd, and fhow'd the happy name ; With rifing joy my heart o'erflow'd, I felt, and blefl the new-born flame. May foftefl pleafures carelefs round her move, May all her nights be joy, and days be love. She drew the treafure from her breafl, That breafl where love and graces play, O name beyond expreffion blefl ! Thus lodg'd with all that's fair and gay. To be fo lodg'd ! the thought is ecflafy, Who would not wifh in paradife to ly 1 R. The Faithful Shepherd. Tune — Auld langfytie. WHEN flow'ry meadows deck the year, And fporting lambkins play, When fpangl'd fields renew'd appear, And mufic wak'd the day ; Then did my Chloe leave her bow'r, To hear my am'rous lay ; Warm'd by my love, fhe vow'd no pow'r Shou'd lead her heart aflray. The warbling quires from ev'ry bough Surround our couch in throngs, And all their tuneful art beflow, To give us change of fongs : Scenes of delight my foul poffefs'd, I blefs'd, then hugg'd my maid ; I robb'd the kiffes from her breafl, Sweet as a noon-day's fhade. 12 A COLLECTION Joy tranfporting never fails To fly away as air, Another fwain with her prevails To be as falfe as fair. What can my fatal paffion cure 1 I'll never woo again \ All her difdain I mull endure, Adoring her in vain. What pity 'tis to hear the boy Thus fighing with his pain ; But time and fcorn may give him joy, To hear her figh again. Ah ! fickle Chloe, be advis'd, Do not thyfelf beguile, A faithful lover (hould be priz'd, Then cure him with a fmile. To Mrs. S. H. on her taking fomething ill I faid. Tune — Hallow ev'n. WHY hangs that cloud upon thy brow ? That beauteous heav'n ere while ferene 1 Whence do thefe ftorms and tempefls flow, Or what this guft of paffion mean ? And muft then mankind lofe that light, Which in thine eyes was wont to Ihine, And ly obfcure in endlefs night, For each poor filly fpeech of mine ? Dear child, how can I wrong thy name, Since 'tis acknowledg'd, at all hands, That could ill tongues abufe thy fame, Thy beauty can make large amends : OF CHOICE SONGS. 13 Or if I durfl profanely try Thy beauty's pow'rful charms t' upbraid, Thy virtue well might give the lie, Nor call thy beauty to its aid. For Venus every heart t' enfnare, With all her charms has deck'd thy face, And Pallas, with unufual care, Bids wifdom heighten every grace. Who can the double pain endure ; Or who muft not refign the field To thee, celeftial maid, fecure With Cupid's bow, and Pallas' fliield ? If then to thee fuch power is given, Let not a wretch in torment live, But fmile, and learn to copy heaven, Since we muft fin ere it forgive. Yet pitying heaven not only does Forgive th' offender and th' offence, But even itfelf appeas'd beftows, As the reward of penitence. H. The Broom of Cowdenknows. T T OW blyth ilk morn was I to fee ■*■ -*■ The fwain come o'er the hill ! He fkipt the burn and flew to me : I met him with good will. the broom, the bonny bonny broom, The broom of Cowdenknows ; 1 wijli I were with my dear fwain, With his pipe and my ewes. I neither wanted ewe nor lamb, While his flock near me lay : He gather'd in my fheep at night, And chear'd me a' the day. O the broom, &c. i 4 A COLLECTION He tun'd his pipe and reed fae fweet, The burds flood lifl'ning by : E'en the dull cattle flood and gaz'd, Charm'd with his melody. O the broom, &c. While thus we fpent our time by turns, Betwixt our flocks and play ; I envy'd not the fairefl dame, Tho' ne'er fo rich and gay. O the broom, &c. Hard fate that I fhould banifh'd be, Gang heavily and mourn, Becaufe I lov'd the kindeft fwain That ever yet was born. O the broom, &c. He did oblige me every hour, Cou'd I but faithfu' be ? He flaw my heart : Cou'd I refufe Whate'er he afk'd of me ? O the broom, &c. My doggie and my little kit That held my wee foup whey My plaidy, broach, and crooked flick, May now ly ufelefs by, O the broom, &c. Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu, Farewel a' pleafures there ; Ye gods, reflore me to my fwain, Is a' I crave or care. the broom, the bonny bonny broom, The broom of Cowdenknows ; 1 wiJJi I were with my dear fwain, With his pipe and my ewes, S. R. OF CHOICE SONGS. 15 To Chloe. Tune — / wiJJi my love were in a Mire. LOVELY maid, how dear's thy pow'r 1 O At once I love, at once adore : With wonder are my thoughts poffeft, While fofteft love infpires my breaft. This tender look, thefe eyes of mine, Confefs their am'rous matter thine ; Thefe eyes with Strephon's paffion play, Firfl make me love, and then betray. Yes, charming victor, I am thine, Poor as it is, this heart of mine Was never in another's pow'r, Was never pierc'd by love before. In thee I've treafur'd up my joy, Thou canft give blifs, or blifs deftroy : And thus I've bound myfelf to love, While blifs or mifery can move. O fhould I ne'er poffefs thy charms, Ne'er meet my comfort in thy arms ; Were hopes of dear enjoyment gone, Still would I love, love thee alone. But, like fome difcontented made That wanders where its body's laid, Mournful I'd roam with hollow glare, For ever exil'd from my fair. L. Upon hearing his picture was in Chloe's breaft. Y Tune — The fourteen of October. E gods ! was Strephon's picture bleft With the fair heaven of Chloe's breaft % 16 A COLLECTION Move fofter, thou fond fluttering heart, Oh gently throb, — too fierce thou art. Tell me, thou brighteft of thy kind, For Strephon was the blifs defign'd 1 For Strephon's fake, dear charming maid, Didft thou prefer his wand'ring fhade 1 And thou, blefl fhade, that fweetly art Lodged fo near my Chloe's heart, For me the tender hour improve, And foftly tell how dear I love. Ungrateful thing ! it fcorns to hear Its wretched mailer's ardent pray'r, Ingroffing all that beauteous heav'n, That Chloe, lavifh maid, has giv'n. I cannot blame thee : Were I lord Of all the wealth thofe breads afford, I'd be a mifer too, nor give An alms to keep a god alive. Oh fmile not thus, my lovely fair, On thefe cold looks, that lifelefs are ; Prize him whofe bofom glows with fire, With eager love and foft defire. 'Tis true, thy charms, O pow'rful maid, To life can bring the filent fhade : Thou canft furpafs the painter's art, And real warmth and flames impart. But oh ! it ne'er can love like me, I've ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee : Then, charmer, grant my fond requeft, Say thou canft love, and make me blefs'd. OF CHOICE SONGS. 17 Song for a Serenade. Tune — The broom of Cowdenknows. TEACH me, Chloe, how to prove My boafted flame fincere ; Tis hard to tell how dear I love, And hard to hide my care. Sleep in vain difplays her charms, To bribe my foul to reft, Vainly fpreads her filken arms, And courts me to her bread. Where can Strephon find repofe, If Chloe is not there 1 For ah ! no peace his bofom knows, When abfent from the fair. What tho' Phoebus from on high With-holds his chearful ray, Thine eyes can well his light fupply, And give me more than day. L. Love is the caufe of my mourning. BY a murmuring ftream a fair (hepherdefs lay, Be fo kind, O ye nymphs, I oftimes heard her fay, Tell Strephon I die, if he paffes this way, And that love is the caufe of my mourning. Falfe fhepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms, You deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never warms ; Yet bring me this Strephon, let me die in his arms, Oh Strephon ! the caufe of my mourning. c 18 A COLLECTION But firfl, faid (he, let me go Down to the (hades below, Ere ye let Strephon know That I have lov'd him fo : Then on my pale cheek no blufhes will (how That love was the caufe of my mourning. Her eyes were fcarce clofed when Strephon came by ; He thought (he'd been deeping, and foftly drew nigh ; But finding her breathlefs, Oh heavens ! did he cry, Ah Chloris I the caufe of my mourning. Redore me my Chloris, ye nymphs ufe your art. They fighing, reply'd, 'Twas yourfelf (hot the dart, That wounded the tender young fliepherdefs* heart, And kilVd the poor Chloris with mourning. Ah then, is Chloris dead, Wounded by me ? he faid ; I'll follow thee, chafte maid, Down to the filent (hade, Then on her cold fnowy bread leaning his head, Expir 'd the poor Strephon with mourning. X. To Mrs. A. H. on feeing her at a concert. Tune — The bonniefl lafs in a? the warld. LOOK where my dear Hamilla fmiles, Hamilla ! heav'nly charmer ; See how, with all their arts and wiles, The Loves and Graces arm her. A blufh dwells glowing on her cheeks, Fair feats of youthful pleafures, There love in fmiling language fpeaks, There fpreads his rofy treafures. OF CHOICE SONGS. 19 O faireft maid, I own thy pow'r, I gaze, I figh, and languifli, Yet ever, ever will adore, And triumph in my anguifh. But eafe, O charmer, eafe my care, And let my torments move thee ; As thou are faireft of the fair, So I the deareft love thee. 2. C. The Bonny Scot. Tune — The boat-man. YE gales that gently wave the fea, And pleafe the canny boat-man, Bear me frae hence, or bring to me My brave, my bonny Scot — man : In haly bands We join'd our hands, Yet may not this difcover, While parents rate A large eftate, Before a faithfu' lover. But I loor chufe in Highland glens To herd the kid and goat — man, Ere I cou'd for fie little ends Refufe my bonny Scot — man. Wae worth the man Wha firft began The bafe ungenerous fafhion, Frae greedy views Love's art to ufe, While ftrangers to its paffion. 20 A COLLECTION Frae foreign fields, my lovely youth, Halle to thy longing laffie, Who pants to prefs thy ba'my mouth, And in her bofom hawfe thee. Love gi'es the word, Then hafle on board, Fair winds and tenty boat-man, Waft o'er, waft o'er Frae yonder fhore, My blyth, my bonny Scot — man. SCORNFU' NANSY. To its own Tune. NANSY's to the Greenwood gane, To hear the gowdfpink chatt'ring, And Willie he has followed her, To gain her love by flatt'ring : But a' that he cou'd fay or do, She geck'd and fcorned at him ; And ay when he began to woo, She bid him mind wha gat him. What ails ye at my dad, quoth he, My minny or my aunty 1 With crowdy mowdy they fed me, Lang-kail and ranty-tanty : With bannocks of good barley-meal, Of thae there was right plenty, With chapped flocks fou butter'd well ; And was not that right dainty 1 Although my father was nae laird, 'Tis daffin to be vaunty, He keepit ay a good kail-yard, A ha' houfe and a pantry : OF CHOICE SONGS. 21 A good blew bonnet on his head, An owrlay 'bout his cragy ; And ay until the day he dy'd, He rade on good (hanks naggy. Now wae and wander on your fnout, Wad ye hae bonny Nanfy 1 Wad ye compare yourfell to me, A docken till a tanfie? I have a wooer of my ain, They ca' him fouple Sandy, And well I wat his bonny mou' Is fweet like fugar-candy. Wow, Nanfy, what needs a' this din ? Do I not ken this Sandy 1 I'm fure the chief of a' his kin Was Rob the beggar randy : His minny Meg upo' her back Bare baith him and his billy ; Will ye compare a nafly pack To me your winfome Willy ? My gutcher left a good braid-fword, Though it be auld and rufly, Yet ye may tak it on my word, It is baith flout and trufty ; And if I can but get it drawn, Which will be right uneafy, I fhall lay baith my lugs in pawn, That he fhall get a heezy. Then Nanfy turn'd her round about, And faid, Did Sandy hear ye, Ye wadna mifs to get a clout ; I ken he difna fear ye : Sae had your tongue and fay nae mair, Set fomewhere elfe your fancy ; For as lang's Sandy's to the fore, Ye never fhall get Nanfy. Z. 22 A COLLECTION Slighted Nansy. Tune — Tlie kirk wad let me be. 'HPIS I have feven braw new gowns, -*- And ither feven better to male, And yet for a' my new gowns, My wooer has turn'd his back. Befides, I have feven milk-ky, And Sandy he has but three ; And yet for a' my good ky, The laddie winna ha'e me. My daddy's a delver of dikes, My mither can card and fpin, And I am a fine fodgel lafs, And the filler comes linkin in, The filler comes linkin in, And it is fou fair to fee, And fifty times wow ! O wow ! What ails the lads at me 1 When ever our Baty does bark, Then fall to the door I rin, To fee gin ony young fpark Will light and venture but in : But never a ane will come in, Tho' mony a ane gaes by, Syne far ben the houfe I rin ; And a weary wight am I. When I was at my firfl pray'rs, I pra/d but anes i' the year, I wifh'd for a handfome young lad, And a lad with muckle gear. When I was at my neift pray'rs, I pray'd but now and than, I fafh'd na my head about gear, If I got a handfome young man. OF CHOICE SONGS. 23 Now when I'm at my laft pray'rs, I pray on baith night and day, And O ! if a beggar wad come, With that fame beggar I'd gae. And O ! and what'll come o' me ! And O ! and what'll I do 1 That fie a braw laffie as I Shou'd die for a wooer I trow. Lucky Nansy. Tune — Dainty Davie. WHILE fops in faft Italian verfe, Ilk fair ane's een and breaft rehearfe, While fangs abound and fenfe is fcarce, Thefe lines I have indited : But neither darts nor arrows here, Venus nor Cupid fhall appear, And yet with thefe fine founds I fwear The maidens are delited. I was ay telling you, Lucky Nanfy, lucky Nanfy, Aidd fprings wad ding the neiu, But ye wad never trow me. Nor fnaw with crimfon will I mix, To fpread upon my laffie's cheeks ; And fyne th' unmeaning name prefix, Miranda, Chloe, or Phillis. I'll fetch na fimile frae Jove, My height of ecftafy to prove, Nor fighing — thus — prefent my love With rofes eke and lilies. / was ay telling you, &c. A COLLECTION But flay, — I had amaift forgot My miftrefs and my fang to boot, And that's an unco' faut I wat ; But Nanfy, 'tis nae matter. Ye fee I clink my verfe wi' rhyme, And ken ye, that atones the crime ; Forby, how fweet my numbers chyme, And Hide away like water. I was ay telling you, &c. Now ken, my rev'rend fonfy fair, Thy runkled cheeks and lyart hair, Thy half-fhut een and hodling air, Are a' my paffion's fewel. Nae fkyring gowk, my dear, can fee, Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee ; Yet thou haft charms anew for me, Then fmile, and be na cruel. Leez me on thy fnawy pow, Lucky Nanfy, lucky Nanfy, Dryejl wood will eithejl low, A fid, Nanfy, fae will ye now. Troth I have fung the fang to you, Which ne'er anither bard wad do ; Hear then my charitable vow, Dear venerable Nanfy. But if the warld my paffion wrang, And fay ye only live in fang, Ken I defpife a fland'ring tongue, And fing to pleafe my fancy. Leez me on thy, &c. OF CHOICE SONGS. 25 A Scots Cantata. The tune after an Italian manner. Compofed by Signor Lorenzo Bocchi. Recitative. "DLATE Jonny faintly tald fair Jean his mind ; ■*-' Jeany took pleafure to deny him lang ; He thought her fcorn came frae her heart unkind, Which gart him in defpair tune up this fang. A 1 R. bonny laffie, fince 'tis fae, That I'm defpis'd by thee, 1 hate to live, but O I'm wae, And unco fweer to die. Dear Jeany, think what dowy hours I thole by your difdain : Ah ! mould a breaft fae faft as yours, Contain a heart of flane ? Recitative. Thefe tender notes did a' her pity move, With melting heart (he lift'ned to the boy ; O'ercome me fmil'd, and promis'd him her love : He in return thus fang his rifing joy. Air. Hence frae my breaft, contentious care, Ye've tint the pow'r to pine ; My Jeany's good, my Jeany's fair, And a' her fweets are mine. O fpread thine arms, and gi'e me fowth Of dear inchanting blifs, A thoufand joys around thy mouth Gi'e heav'n with ilka kifs. 26 A COLLECTION The Toast. Tune — Saw ye my Peggv ? OME let's ha'e mair wine in, c Bacchus hates repining, Venus loves nae dwining, Let's be blyth and free. Away with dull — Here t'ye, Sir ; Ye'er miftrefs, Robie, gi'es her, We'll drink her health wi' pleafure, Wha's belov'd by thee. Then let Peggy warm ye, That's a lafs can charm ye, And to joys alarm ye, Sweet is fhe to me. Some angel ye wad ca' her, And never wifh ane brawer, If ye bare-headed faw her Kiltet to the knee. Peggy a dainty lafs is, Come let's join our glaffes, And refrem our haufes With a health to thee. Let coofs their cafh be clinking, Be ftatefmen tint in thinking, While we with love and drinking, Give our cares the lie. Maggie's Tocher. To its ain tune. THE meal was dear fhort fyne, We buckl'd us a' the gither ; And Maggie was in her prime, When Willie made courtfhip till her : OF CHOICE SONGS. 27 Twa piftals charg'd beguefs, To gie the courting fhot ; And fyne came ben the lafs Wi' fwats drawn frae the but. He firft fpeer'd at the guidman, And fyne at Giles the mither, An ye wad gi's a bit land, We'd buckle us e'en the gither. My doughter ye fhall ha'e, I'll gi'e you her by the hand ; But I'll part wi' my wife by my fae, Or I part wi' my land. Your tocher it fall be good, There's nane fall ha'e its maik, The lafs bound in her fnood, And Crummie wha kens her ftake : With an auld bedden o' claiths, Was left me by my mither, They're jet black o'er wi' flaes, Ye may cuddle in them the gither. Ye fpeak right well, guidman, But ye maun mend your hand, And think o' modefty, Gin ye'll not quat your land : We are but young, ye ken, And now we're gawn the gither, A houfe is butt and benn, And Crummie will want her fother. The bairns are coming on, And they'll cry, O their mither ! We have nouther pat nor pan, But four bare legs the gither. Your tocher's be good enough, For that ye need na fear, Twa good ftilts to the pleugh, And ye your fell maun fteer : 2 8 A COLLECTION Ye fhall ha'e twa good pocks That anes were o' the tweel, The fane to had the grots, The ither to had the meal : With an auld kill made of wands, And that fall be your coffer, Wi' aiken woody bands, And that may had your tocher. Confider well, guidman, We ha'e but borrow'd gear, The horfe that I ride on Is Sandy Wilfon's mare : The faddle's nane o' my ain, An thae's but borrow'd boots ; And whan that I gae hame, I maun tak to my coots : The cloak is Geordy Watt's, That gars me look fae croufe ; Come fill us a cogue of fwats, We'll mak na mair toom rufe. I like you well, young lad, For telling me fae plain, I married when little I had O' gear that was my ain. But fin that things are fae, The bride fhe maun come furth, Tho' a' the gear (he'll hae, It'll be but little worth. A bargain it maun be, Fy, cry on Giles the mither : Content am I, quo' fhe, E'en gar the hiffie come hither. The bride fhe gade till her bed, The bridegroom he came till her ; The fiddler crap in at the fit, An' they cuddl'd it a' the gither. OF CHOICE SONGS. 29 SONG. Tune — Blink over the burn, fweet Betty. LEAVE kindred and friends, fweet Betty, Leave kindred and friends for me : Affur'd thy fervant is fteady To love, to honour, and thee. The gifts of nature and fortune May fly by chance as they came ; They're grounds the deftinies fport on, But virtue is ever the fame. Altho' my fancy were roving, Thy charms fo heavenly appear, That other beauties difproving, I'd worfhip thine only, my dear. And fhou'd life's forrows embitter The pleafure we promis'd our loves, To (hare them together is fitter, Than moan afunder, like doves. Oh ! were I but once fo bleffed, To grafp my love in my arms ! By thee to be grafp'd ! and kiffed ! And live on thy heaven of charms ; I'd laugh at fortune's caprices, Shou'd fortune capricious prove ; Tho' death fhou'd tear me to pieces, I'd die a martyr to love. M. SONG. Tune — The bonny grey-efd morning. CELESTIAL mufes, tune your lyres, Grace all my raptures with your lays, Charming, inchanting Kate infpires, In lofty founds her beauties praife : 3 o A COLLECTION How undefigning (he difplays Such fcenes as ravifh with delight ; Tho' brighter than meridian rays, They dazzle not, but pleafe the fight. Blind god, give this, this only dart, I neither will, nor can her harm ; I would but gently touch her heart, And try for once if that cou'd charm. Go, Venus, ufe your fav'rite wile, As (he is beauteous, make her kind, Let all your graces round her fmile, And (both her till I comfort find. When thus, by yielding, I'm o'erpaid, And all my anxious cares remov'd, In moving notes I'll tell the maid, With what pure lading flames I lov'd. Then (hall alternate life and death My ravifh'd flutt'ring foul poffefs, The fofteft tend'reft things I'll breathe Betwixt each am'rous fond carefs. O. SONG. Tune — TJie broom of Cowdenknows. SUBJECTED to the power of love By Nell's refiftlefs charms, The fancy fix'd, no more can rove, Or fly foft love's alarms. Gay Damon had the (kill to (hun All traps by Cupid laid, Until his freedom was undone By Nell the conquering maid. OF CHOICE SONGS. 31 But who can ftand the force of love, When fhe refolves to kill ? Her fparkling eyes love's arrows prove, And wound us with our will. O happy Damon, happy fair, What Cupid has begun, May faithful Hymen take a care To fee it fairly done. G. SONG. Tune — Logan water. Vitas hinnideo mefimilis, Chloe. r "PELL me, Hamilla, tell me why ■*• Thou doft from him that loves thee run % Why from his foft embraces fly, And all his kind endearments fhun 1 So flies the fawn, with fear opprefs'd, Seeking its mother ev'ry where, It ftarts at evr'y empty blaft, And trembles when no danger's near. And yet I keep thee but in view, To gaze the glories of thy face, Not with a hateful ftep purfue, As age to rifle every grace. Ceafe, then, dear wildnefs, ceafe to toy, But hafte all rivals to outfhine, And grown mature, and ripe for joy, Leave mamma's arms, and come to mine. 32 A COLLECTION A South-Sea Sang. Tune — For our lang biding here. WHEN we came to London town, We dream'd of gowd in gowpens here, And rantinly ran up and down, In riling flocks to buy a fkair : We daftly thought to row in rowth, But for our damn paid right dear ; The lave will fare the war in trouth, For our lang biding here. But when we find our purfes toom, And dainty ftocks began to fa', We hang our lugs, and wi' a gloom Girn'd at ftockjobbing ane and a'. If ye gang near the South-Sea houfe, The whilly wha's will grip your gear, Syne a' the lave will fare the war, For our lang biding here. Hap me with thy petticoat. OBELL, thy looks have kill'd my heart, I pafs the day in pain ; When night returns, I feel the fmart, And wifh for thee in vain. I'm ftarving cold, while thou art warm : Have pity and incline, And grant me for a hap that charm- ing petticoat of thine. My ravifh'd fancy in amaze Still wanders o'er thy charms, Delufive dreams ten thoufand ways Prefent thee to my arms. OF CHOICE SONGS. 33 But waking think what I endure, While cruel you decline Thofe pleafures, which can only cure This panting bread of mine. I faint, I fail, and wildly rove, Becaufe you ftill deny The juft reward that's due to love, And let true paffion die. Oh ! turn, and let compaffion feize That lovely breaft of thine ; Thy petticoat could give me eafe, If thou and it were mine. Sure heaven has fitted for delight That beauteous form of thine, And thou'rt too good its law to flight, By hind'ring the defign. May all the pow'rs of love agree, At length to make thee mine, Or loofe my chains, and fet me free From ev'ry charm of thine. Love Inviting Reason. A Song, Tune of — Cha mi ma chattle, na dujkar mi. WHEN innocent paftime our pleafure did crown, Upon a green meadow, or under a tree, Ere Annie became a fine lady in town, How lovely, and loving, and bonny was fhe ! Roufe up thy reafon, my beautifu' Annie, Let ne'er a new whim ding thy fancy a-jee ; — O ! as thou art bonny, be faithfu' and canny, And favour thy Jamie, wha dotes upon thee. D 34 A COLLECTION Does the death of a lintwhite give Annie the fpleen ? Can tining of trifles be uneafy to thee 1 Can lap-dogs and monkeys draw tears from thefe een, That look with indiff'rence on poor dying me ? Roufe up thy reafon, my beautifu' Annie, And dinna prefer a paroquet to me ; O ! as thou art bonny, be prudent and canny, * And think on thy Jamie wha dotes upon thee. Ah ! fhou'd a new manto or Flanders lace head, Or yet a wee cottie, tho' never fae fine, Gar thee grow forgetfu', and let his heart bleed, That anes had fome hope of purchafing thine 1 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautifu' Annie, And dinna prefer ye'er fleegeries to me ; O ! as thou art bonny, be folid and canny, And tent a true lover that dotes upon thee. Shall a Paris edition of new-fangle Sany, Tho' gilt o'er wi' laces and fringes he be, By adoring himfelf, be admir'd by fair Annie, And aim at thefe benifons promis'd to me 1 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautifu' Annie, And never prefer a light dancer to me ; O ! as thou art bonny, be conftant and canny, Love only thy Jamie wha dotes upon thee. O ! think, my dear charmer, on ilka fweet hour, That flade away faftly between thee and me, Ere fquirrels, or beaus, or fopp'ry had power To rival my love, and impofe upon thee. Roufe up thy reafon, my beautifu' Annie, And let thy defires be a' center'd in me ; O ! as thou art bonny, be faithfu' and canny, And love him wha's langing to center in thee. OF CHOICE SONGS. 35 The Bob of Dumblane. LASSIE, lend me your braw hemp heckle, And I'll lend you my thripling kame ; For fainnefs, deary, I'll gar ye keckle, If ye'll go dance the Bob of Dumblane. Hafte ye, gang to the ground of your trunkies, Bufk ye braw, and dinna think fhame ; Confider in time, if leading of monkies Be better than dancing the Bob of Dumblane. Be frank, my laffie, left I grow fickle, And take my word and offer again. Syne ye may chance to repent it mickle, Ye did na accept the Bob of Dumblane. The dinner, the piper, and prieft shall be ready, And I'm grown dowy with lying my lane ; Away then, leave baith minny and daddy, And try with me the Bob of Dumblane. SONG complaining of abfence. Tune — My apron, deary. AH Chloe ! thou treafure, thou joy of my breaft, Since I parted from thee, I'm a ftranger to reft ; I fly to the grove, there to languifh and mourn, There figh for my charmer, and long to return ; The fields all around me are fmiling and gay, But they fmile all in vain — my Chloe's away ; The field and the grove can afford me no eafe, — But bring me my Chloe, a defert will pleafe. No virgin I fee that my bofom alarms, I'm cold to the faireft, tho' glowing with charms, In vain they attack me, and fparkle the eye ; Thefe are not the looks of my Chloe, I cry. 36 A COLLECTION Thefe looks, where bright love, like the fun fits en- thron'd, And fmiling diffufes his influence round ; 'Twas thus I firft view'd thee, my charmer amaz'd, Thus gaz'd thee with wonder, and lov'd while I gaz'd. Then, then the dear fair one was ftill in my fight, It was pleafure all day, it was rapture all night ; But now by hard fortune remov'd from my fair, In fecret I languifh, a prey to defpair ; But abfence and torment abate not my flame, My Chloe's ftill charming, my paffion the fame ; O ! would (he preferve me a place in her breaft, Then abfence would pleafe me, for I would be blefs'd. R. SONG. Tune — Ifix'd my fancy on her. BRIGHT Cynthia's power divinely great, What heart is not obeying % A thoufand Cupids on her wait, And in her eyes are playing. She feems the queen of love to reign ; For (he alone difpenfes Such fweets as beft can entertain The guft of all the fenfes. Her face a charming profpect brings, Her breath gives balmy bliffes ; I hear an angel when (he fmgs, And tafte of heaven in kiffes. Four fenfes thus (he feafts with joy, From nature's richeft treafure : Let me the other fenfe employ, And I (hall die with pleafure. X. OF CHOICE SONGS. 37 SONG. Tune — / lodd a bony lady. TELL me, tell me, charming creature, Will you never eafe my pain % Muft I die for ev'ry feature % Muft I always love in vain ? The defire of admiration Is the pleafure you purfue ; Pray thee try a lafting paffion, Such a love as mine for you. Tears and fighing could not move you ; For a lover ought to dare : When I plainly told I lov'd you, Then you faid I went too far. Are fuch giddy ways befeeming % Will my dear be fickle ftill % Conqueft is the joy of women, Let their flaves be what they will. Your negledl with torment fills me, And my defp'rate thoughts increafe ; Pray confider, if you kill me, You will have a lover lefs. If your wand'ring heart is beating, For new lovers let it be : But when you have done coquetting, Name a day, and fix on me. 606060606G606G60606G6G60606G6G6G606G606G6G606G60603 The Reply. TN vain, fond youth ; thy tears give o'er ; -*- What more, alas ! can Flavia do 1 Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore : All are not happy that are true. ? a rr n n. 38 A COLLECTION Supprefs thofe fighs, and weep no more ; Should heaven and earth with thee combine, 'Twere all in vain, fmce any power, To crown thy love, mufl alter mine. But if revenge can eafe thy pain, I'll footh the ills I cannot cure ; Tell that I drag a hopelefs chain, And all that I inflict endure. X. The Rose in Yarrow. Tune — Mary Scott. ,p I * WAS fummer, and the day was fair, -*■ Refolv'd a while to fly from care, Beguiling thought, forgetting forrow, I wander'd o'er the braes of Yarrow ; Till then defpifing beauty's power, I kept my heart, my own fecure ; But Cupid's art did there deceive me, And Mary's charms do now enflave me. Will cruel love no bribe receive 1 No ranfom take for Mary's Have ? Her frowns of reft and hope deprive me ; Her lovely fmiles like light revive me. No bondage may with mine compare, Since firft I faw this charming fair : This beauteous flower, this rofe of Yarrow, In nature's gardens has no marrow. Had I of heaven but one requeft, I'd afk to ly in Mary's breaft ; There would I live or die with pleafure, Nor fpare this world one moment's leifure ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 39 Defpifing kings, and all that's great, I'd fmile at courts, and courtier's fate ; My joy complete on fuch a marrow, I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow. But tho' fuch blifs I ne'er mould gain, Contented flill I'll wear my chain, In hopes my faithful heart may move her ; For leaving life I'll always love her. What doubts diffract a lover's mind 1 That bread, all foftnefs, mufl prove kind ; And (he mail yet become my marrow, The lovely beauteous rofe of Yarrow. C. •%»» $ * $* c * €» 4 Throw the Wood, Laddie. O SANDY, why leaves thou thy Nelly to mourn 1 Thy prefence could eafe me, When naething can pleafe me ; Now dowie I figh on the bank of the burn, Or throw the wood, laddie, until thou return. 46 A COLLECTION Tho' woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear, While lav'rocks are finging, And primrofes springing ; Yet nane of them pleafes my eye or my ear, When throw the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear. That I am forfaken, fome fpare not to tell : I'm fafh'd wi' their fcorning, Baith ev'ning and morning ; Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wi' a knell, When throw the wood, laddie, I wander myfell. Then flay, my dear Sandy, nae langer away, But quick as an arrow, Haft here to thy marrow, Wha's living in languor till that happy day, When throw the wood, laddie, we'll dance, fing, and play. Down the Burn, Davie. "I "X 7"HEN trees did bud, and fields were green, * * And broom bloom'd fair to fee ; When Mary was complete fifteen, And love laughed in her eye ; Blyth Davie's blinks her heart did move To fpeak her mind thus free, Gang down the burn, Davie, love, And I JJiall follow thee. Now Davie did each lad furpafs, That dwelt on this burn-fide, And Mary was the bonnieft lafs, Juft meet to be a bride ; Her cheeks were rofy, red, and white, Her e'en were bonny blue ; Her looks were like Aurora bright, Her lips like dropping dew. OF CHOICE SONGS. 47 As down the burn they took their way, What tender tales they faid ! His cheek to hers he aft did lay, And with her bofom play'd ; Till baith at length impatient grown, To be mair fully bleft, In yonder vale they lean'd them down ; Love only faw the reft. What pafs'd, I guefs, was harmlefs play, And naething fure unmeet ; For, ganging hame, I heard them fay, They lik'd a wawk fae fweet ; And that they aften fhou'd return Sic pleafure to renew. Quoth Mary, Love, I like the burn, And ay fhall follow you. C. r Ti r+4- *+y *Xy y-T. .la ifj »Ta iti >Ta »Ta ill it* iTj At At At Aa At Ai Ai .ti Ai -■- -4- -*' ■'*' ■'' ■▼, -4. -4. .4. .4. .4, -4. .4. 4. 4. "~™™"""*f*T**T *+* v t* tttTTttttTtttttttttttttttt SONG. Tune — Guilder Roy. A H ! Chloris, cou'd I now but fit •**- As unconcern'd, as when Your infant beauty cou'd beget No happinefs nor pain. When I this dawning did admire, And prais'd the coming day, I little thought that rifing fire Wou'd take my reft away. Your charms in harmlefs childhood lay, As metals in a mine. Age from no face takes more away, Than youth conceal'd in thine : But as your charms infenfibly To their perfection preft ; So love as unperceiv'd did fly, And center'd in my breaft. 48 A COLLECTION My paffion with your beauty grew, While Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favour'd you, Threw a new flaming dart : Each gloried in their wanton part ; To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmofl of his art ; — To make a beauty, fhe. SONG. Tune — The Yellow -hair 'd Laddie. YE fhepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain, Approach from your fports, and attend to my ftrain ; Amongft all your number a lover fo true, Was ne'er fo undone, with fuch blifs in his view. Was ever a nymph fo hard-hearted as mine ? She knows me fincere, and fhe fees how I pine ; She does not difdain me, nor frown in her wrath, But calmly and mildly refigns me to death. She calls me her friend, but her lover denies : She fmiles when I'm chearful, but hears not my fighs ; A bofom fo flinty, fo gentle an air, Infpires me with hope, and yet bids me defpair ! I fall at her feet, and implore her with tears : Her anfwer confounds, while her manner endears ; When foftly fhe tells me to hope no relief, My trembling lips blefs her in fpite of my grief. By night, while I flumber, ftill haunted with care, I ftart up in anguifh, and figh for the fair : The fair fleeps in peace, may fhe ever do fo ! And only when dreaming imagine my wo. OF CHOICE SONGS. 49 Then gaze at a diflance, nor farther afpire ; Nor think fhe fhou'd love, whom me cannot admire ; Hum all thy complaining, and dying her Have, Commend her to heaven, and thyfelf to the grave. <$> 3><$^<§><$><$<$> <$><$> •$><^<$><$><$><$><$><$><$><$><$>^>i$>'$>^>'S>^>^$><$><$><$><$><^^$'^> SONG. Tune — Whenjhe came benjlie bobbed. /^*OME, fill me a bumper, my jolly brave boys, ^ Let's have no more female impert'nence and noife; For I've try'd the endearments and pleafures of love, And I find they're but nonfenfe and whimfies, by Jove. When firft of all Betty and I were acquaint, I whin'd like a fool, and fhe figh'd like a faint : But I found her religion, her face, and her love, Were hypocrify, paint, and fdf-intere/l, by Jove. Sweet Cecil came next with her languilhing air, Her outfide was orderly, modeft, and fair ; But her foul was fophijlicate, fo was her love, For I found fhe was only a ftrumpet, by Jove. Little double-gilt Jenny's gold charm'd me at laft : (You know marriage and money together does belt.) But the baggage, forgetting her vows and her love, Gave her gold to z-fniv 1 ling dull coxcomb, by Jove. Come fill me a bumper then, jolly brave boys ; Here's a farewell to female impert'nence and noife : I know few of the fex that are worthy my love ; And for Jlrumpets and jilts, I abhor them, by Jove. L. E 5o A COLLECTION Dumbarton's Drums. DUMBARTON'S drums beat bonny— O, When they mind me of my dear Jonny — O. How happy am I, When my foldier is by, While he kiffes and bleffes his Annie — O ! 'Tis a foldier alone can delight me — O, For his graceful looks do invite me — O : While guarded in his arms, I'll fear no war's alarms, Neither danger nor death fhall e'er fright me — O. My love is a handfome laddie — O, Genteel, but ne'er foppifh nor gaudy — O : Tho' commiffions are dear, Yet I'll buy him one this year ; For he fhall ferve no longer a cadie — O. A foldier has honour and bravery — O, Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery — O ; He minds no other thing But the ladies or the king ; For ev'ry other care is but flavery — O. Then I'll be the captain's lady — O ; Farewell all my friends and my daddy — O ; I'll wait no more at home, But I'll follow with the drum, And whene'er that beats, I'll be ready — O. Dumbarton's drums found bonny — O, They are fprightly like my dear Jonny — O : How happy fhall I be, When on my foldier's knee, And he kiffes and bleffes his Annie — O ! OF CHOICE SONGS. 51 Auld lang fyne. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, Tho' they return with fears 1 Thefe are the noble hero's lot, Obtain'd in glorious wars : Welcome, my Varo, to my breafl, Thy arms about me twine, And make me once again as bleft, As I was lang fyne. Methinks around us on each bough, A thoufand cupids play, Whilfl thro' the groves I walk with you, Each object makes me gay : Since your return the fun and moon With brighter beams do fhine ; Streams murmur foft notes while they run, As they did lang fyne. Defpife the court and din of ftate ; Let that to their fhare fall, Who can efteem fuch llav'ry great, While bounded like a ball : But funk in love, upon my arms Let your brave head recline ; We'll pleafe ourfelves with mutual charms, As we did lang fyne. O'er moor and dale, with your gay friend, You may purfue the chace, And, after a blyth bottle, end All cares in my embrace : And in a vacant rainy day You fhall be wholly mine ; We'll make the hours run fmooth away,. And laugh at lang fyne. 52 A COLLECTION The hero, pleas 'd with the fweet air, And figns of gen'rous love, Which had been utter'd by the fair, Bovv'd to the powers above : Next day, with confent and glad hade, Th' approach'd the facred fhrine ; Where the good prieft the couple bleft, And put them out of pine. The Lass of Livingston. "OAIN'D with her flighting Jamie's love, •*- Bell dropt a tear — Bell dropt a tear ; The gods defcended from above, Well pleas'd to hear — well pleas'd to hear. They heard the praifes of the youth From her own tongue — from her own tongue, Who now converted was to truth, And thus flie fung — and thus lhe fung. Blefs'd days when our ingenuous fex, More frank and kind — more frank and kind, Did not their lov'd adorers vex, But fpoke their mind — but fpoke their mind. Repenting now, (he promis'd fair Wou'd he return — wou'd he return, She ne'er again wou'd give him care, Or caufe him mourn — or caufe him mourn. Why lov'd I thee, deferving fwain, Yet Hill thought fhame — yet Hill thought fhame, When he my yielding heart did gain, To own my flame — to own my flame ? Why took I pleafure to torment, And feem too coy — and feem too coy 1 Which makes me now, alas ! lament My flighted joy — my flighted joy. OF CHOICE SONGS. 53 Ye fair, while beauty's in its fpring, Own your defire — own your defire, While love's young power with his foft wing Fans up the fire — fans up the fire. do not with a filly pride, Or low defign — or low defign, Refufe to be a happy bride, But anfwer plain — but anfwer plain. Thus the fair mourner wail'd her crime, With flowing eyes — with flowing eyes. Glad Jamie heard her all the time, With fweet furprife — with fweet furprife. Some god had led him to the grove ; His mind unchang'd — his mind unchang'd, Flew to her arms, and cry'd, My love, 1 am reveng'd — I am reveng'd ! Peggy, I muft love thee. AS from a rock paft all relief, The fhipwreck'd Colin fpying His native foil, o'ercome with grief, Half funk in waves, and dying : With the next morning-fun he fpies A ihip, which gives unhop'd furprife ; New life fprings up, he lifts his eyes With joy, and waits her motion. So when by her whom long I lov'd, I fcorn'd was, and deferted, Low with defpair my fpirits mov'd, To be for ever parted : Thus droop'd I, till diviner grace I found in Peggy's mind and face ; Ingratitude appear'd then bafe, But virtue more engaging. 54 A COLLECTION Then now fince happily I've hit, I'll have no more delaying ; Let beauty yield to manly wit, We lofe ourfelves in flaying : I'll hafle dull courtihip to a clofe, Since marriage can my fears oppofe Why fhould we happy minutes lofe, Since, Peggy, I muft love thee ? Men may be foolifh, if they pleafe, And deem't a lover's duty, To figh, and facrifice their eafe, Doting on a proud beauty : Such was my cafe for many a year, Still hope fucceeding to my fear ; Falfe Betty's charms now difappear, Since Peggy's far outfhine them. *&•* Bessy Bell and Mary Gray. (~\ Beffy Bell and Mary Gray, ^-^ They are twa bonny laffies, They bigg'd a bow'r on yon burn-brae, And theek'd it o'er wi' rafhes. Fair Beffy Bell I loo'd yeftreen, And thought I ne'er could alter ; But Mary Gray's twa pawky een, They gar my fancy falter. Now Beffy's hair's like a lint-tap ; She fmiles like a May morning, When Phoebus ftarts frae Thetis' lap, The hills with rays adorning : White is her neck, faft is her hand, Her waift and feet's fu' genty ; With ilka grace fhe can command ; Her lips, O wow ! they're dainty. OF CHOICE SONGS. 55 And Mary's locks are like a craw, Her een like diamonds glances ; She's ay fae clean, redd up, and braw, She kills whene'er ftie dances : Blyth as a kid, with wit at will, She blooming, tight, and tall is ; And guides her airs fae gracefu' ftill, O Jove, fhe's like thy Pallas. Dear Beffy Bell and Mary Gray, Ye unco fair opprefs us ; Our fancies jee between you twa, Ye are fie bonny laffies : Wae's me ! for baith I canna get, To ane by law we're ftented ; Then I'll draw cuts, and take my fate, And be with ane contented. I'll never leave thee. J ON N Y. HO' for feven years and mair, honour fhou'd reave [thee me T To fields where cannons rair, thou need na grieve For deep in my fpirits thy fweets are indented ; And love (hall preferve ay what love has imprinted. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, Gang the warld as it will, deareft, believe me. Nelly. O Jonny, I'm jealous whene'er ye difcover My fentiments yielding, ye'll turn a loofe rover ; And nought i' the warld wad vex my heart fairer, If you prove unconftant, and fancy ane fairer. Grieve me, grieve me, oh, it wad grieve me ! A' the lang night and day, if you deceive me. 56 A COLLECTION J O N N Y. My Nelly, let never fie fancies opprefs ye, For while my blood's warm, I'll kindly carefs ye : Your blooming faft beauties firfl beeted love's fire, Your virtue and wit make it ay flame the higher. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, Gang the warld as it will, deareft, believe me. Nelly. Then, Jonny, I frankly this minute allow ye To think me your miftrefs, for love gars me trow ye : And gin you prove faufe, to ye'rfell be it faid then, Ye'll win but fma' honour to wrong a kind maiden. Reave me, reave me, heav'ns ! it wad reave me Of my reft night and day, if ye deceive me. Jonny. Bid icefhogles hammer red gauds on the ftuddy, And fair fimmer-mornings nae mair appear ruddy, Bid Britons think ae gate, and when they obey ye, But never till that time, believe I'll betray ye. Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee ; The ftarns fhall gang witherfhins ere I deceive thee. My Deary, if you die. OVE never more fhall give me pain, •*— * My fancy's fix'd on thee ; Nor ever maid my heart fhall gain, My Peggy, if thou die. Thy beauties did fuch pleafure give, Thy love's fo true to me : Without thee I fhall never live, My deary, if thou die. OF CHOICE SONGS. 57 If fate fhall tear thee from my breaft, How fhall I lonely ftray ? In dreary dreams the night I'll wafte, In fighs the filent day. I ne'er can fo much virtue find, Nor fuch perfection fee : Then I'll renounce all womankind, My Peggy, after thee. No new-blown beauty fires my heart With Cupid's raving rage, But thine which can fuch fweets impart, Muft all the world engage. Twas this that like the morning fun Gave joy and life to me ; And when its deftin'd day is done, With Peggy let me die. Ye pow'rs that fmile on virtuous love, And in fuch pleafure fhare ; You who its faithful flames approve, With pity view the fair. Reflore my Peggy's wonted charms, Thofe charms fo dear to me ; Oh ! never rob them from thofe arms : I'm loft if Peggy die. My Jo Janet. SWEET Sir, for your courtefie, When ye come by the Bafs then, For the love you bear to me, Buy me a keeking-glafs then. Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet ; And there yillfeeye'r bonny fell, My jo Janet. 58 A COLLECTION Keeking in the draw-well clear, What if I fhould fa' in ? Syne a' my kin will fay and fwear, I drown'd myfell for fin. Had the better be the brae, Janet, Janet ; Had the better be the brae, My Jo Janet. Good Sir, for your courtefie, Coming through Aberdeen then, For the love ye bear to me, Buy me a pair of fhoon then. Clout the auld, the new are dear, Janet, Janet ; Ae pair may gain ye hdf a year, My jo Janet. But what if dancing on the green, And fkipping like a mawking, If they fhould fee my clouted fhoon, Of me they will be tauking. Dance ay laigh, and late at e'en, Janet, Janet; Syne a! their f ants will no be feen, My jo Janet. Kind Sir, for your courtefie, When ye gae to the crofs then, For the love ye bear to me, Buy me a pacing horfe then. Pace upd your fpinning-wheel, Janet, Janet ; Pace upd your fpinning-wheel, My jo Janet. My fpinning-wheel is auld and ftiff, The rock o't winna Hand, Sir, OF CHOICE SONGS. 59 To keep the temper-pin in tiff, Employs aft my hand, Sir. Make the bejl dt that ye can, Janet, Janet ; But like it never wale a man, My jo Janet. SONG. Tune — John Anderfon my jo. WHAT means this nicenefs now of late, Since time that truth does prove ; Such diftance may confift with ftate, But never will with love. 'Tis either cunning or difdain That does fuch ways allow ; The firft is bafe, the laft is vain : May neither happen you. For if it be to draw me on, You over-a£l your part ; And if it be to have me gone, You need not ha'f that art : For if you chance a look to caft, That feems to be a frown, I'll give you all the love that's paft, The reft fhall be my own. Auld Rob Morris. MlTHER. AULD Rob Morris that wins in yon glen, [men, He's the king of good fellows, and wale of auld Has fourfcore of black fheep, and fourfcore too ', Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 60 A COLLECTION DOUGHTER. Had your tongue, mither, and let that abee, For his eild and my eild can never agree : They'll never agree, and that will be feen ; For he is fourfcore, and I'm but fifteen. Mither. Had your tongue, doughter, and lay by your pride, For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the bride : He fhall ly^by your fide, and kifs ye too ; Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. Doughter. Auld Rob Morris I ken him fou weel, His a it flicks out like ony peat-creel, He's outfhinn'd, inkneed, and ringle-ey'd too ; Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er loo. Mither. Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, Yet his auld brafs it will buy a new pan ; Then, doughter, ye fhould na be fo ill to fhoo, For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. Doughter. But auld Rob Morris I never will hae, His back is fae ftiff, and his beard is grown gray : I had titter die than live wi' him a year ; Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear. Q. SONG. Tune — Come kifs with me, come clap with me, &c. Peggy. "X/TY Jocky blyth, for what thou'ft done, *■**■ There is nae help nor mending ; For thou haft jogg'd me out of tune, For a' thy fair pretending. OF CHOICE SONGS. 61 My mither fees a change on me, For my complexion dafhes ; And this, alas ! has been with thee Sae late amang the rafhes. Jocky. My Peggy, what I've faid I'll do, To free thee frae her fcouling. Come then and let us buckle to, Nae langer let's be fooling ; For her content I'll inftant wed, Since thy complexion dafhes ; And then we'll try a feather-bed, Tis fafter than the rafhes. Peggy. Then, Jocky, fince thy love's fae true, Let mither fcoul, I'm eafy : Sae lang's I live I ne'er fhall rue For what I've done to pleafe thee. And there's my hand, I's ne'er complain : Oh ! weel's me on the rafhes ; Whene'er thou likes I'll do't again, And a fig for a' their clafhes. Z. SONG. Tune — Rothes's lament; or, Pinky -houfe. AS Sylvia in a foreft lay, To vent her wo alone ; Her fwain Sylvander came that way, And heard her dying moan : Ah ! is my love (fhe faid) to you So worthlefs and fo vain 1 Why is your wonted fondnefs now Converted to difdain 1 62 A COLLECTION You vow'd the light fhould darknefe turn, Ere you'd exchange your love ; In fhades now may creation mourn, Since you unfaithful prove. Was it for this I credit gave To ev'ry oath you fwore ? But ah ! it feems they moil deceive, Who moft our charms adore. 'Tis plain your drift was all deceit, The practice of mankind : Alas ! I fee it, but too late, My love had made me blind. For you, delighted I could die : But oh ! with grief I'm fill'd, To think that credulous conftant I Shou'd by yourfelf be kill'd. This faid — all breathlefs, fick, and pale, Her head upon her hand, She found her vital fpirits fail, And fenfes at a ftand. Sylvander then began to melt : But ere the word was given, The heavy hand of death fhe felt, And figh'd her foul to heaven. M. The young Laird and Edinburgh Katy. NOW wat ye wha I met yeftreen, Coming down the ftreet, my jo ? My miftrefs in her tartan fcreen, Fu' bonny, braw, and fweet, my jo. My dear, quoth I, thanks to the night, That never wifh'd a lover ill, OF CHOICE SONGS. 63 Since ye're out of your mother's fight, Let's tak a wauk up to the hill. O Katy, wiltu' gang wi' me, And leave the dinfome town a while ; The bloffom's fprouting frae the tree, And a' the fimmer's gaw'n to fmile: The mavis, nightingale, and lark, The bleating lambs, and whiftling hind, In ilka dale, green, fhaw, and park, Will nourifh health, and glad ye'r mind. Soon as the clear goodman of day Bends his morning draught of dew, We'll gae to fome burn-fide and play, And gather flow'rs to bufk ye'r brow ; We'll pou the daifies on the green, The lucken gowans frae the bog : Between hands now and then we'll lean, And fport upo' the velvet fog. There's up into a pleafant glen, A wee piece frae my father's tow'r, A canny, faft, and flow'ry den, Which circling birks have form'd a bow'r : Whene'er the fun grows high and warm, We'll to the cauler fhade remove, There will I lock thee in mine arm, And love and kifs, and kifs and love. Katy's Anfwer. MY mither's ay glowran o'er me, Tho' fhe did the fame before me : I canna get leave To look to my loove, Or elfe fhe'll be like to devour me. 64 A COLLECTION Right fain wad I tak ye'r offer, Sweet Sir, but I'll tine my tocher ; Then, Sandy, ye'll fret, And wyte ye'r poor Kate, Whene'er ye keek in your toom coffer. For tho' my father has plenty Of filler and plenifhing dainty, Yet he's unco fweer To twin wi' his gear ; And fae we had need to be tenty. Tutor my parents wi' caution, Be wylie in ilka motion ; Brag well o' ye'r land, And there's my leal hand, Win them, I'll be at your devotion. Mary Scot. HAPPY'S the love which meets return, When in foft flames fouls equal burn ; But words are wanting to difcover The torments of a hopelefs lover. Ye regifters of heav'n, relate, If looking o'er the rolls of fate, Did you there fee me mark'd to marrow Mary Scot the flow'r of Yarrow ? • Ah no ! her form's too heav'nly fair, Her love the gods above muft fhare ; While mortals with defpair explore her, And at diftance due adore her. O lovely maid ! my doubts beguile, Revive and blefs me with a fmile : Alas 1 if not, you'll foon debar a Sighing fwain the banks of Yarrow. OF CHOICE SONGS. 65 Be hufli, ye fears, I'll not defpair ; My Mary's tender as fhe's fair; Then I'll go tell her all mine anguifh, She is too good to let me languifh : With fuccefs crown'd, I'll not envy The folks who dwell above the iky ; When Mary Scot's become my marrow, We'll make a paradife in Yarrow. O'er Bogie. T WILL awcC wi' my love, •*■ I will awd wV her, Tlid d my kin hadfworn and f aid, I'll der Bogie W? her. If I can get but her confent, I dinna care a ftrae ; Tho' ilka ane be difcontent, Awa' wi' her I'll gae. I will awd , &c. For now fhe's miflrefs of my heart, And wordy of my hand, And well I wat we manna part For filler or for land. Let rakes delyte to fwear and drink, And beaus admire fine lace, But my chief pleafure is to blink On Betty's bonny face. I will awd, Sec. There a' the beauties do combine, Of colour, treats, and air, The faul that fparkles in her een Makes her a jewel rare : 66 A COLLECTION Her flowing wit gives fhining life To a' her other charms ; How blefs'd I'll be when fhe's my wife, And lock'd up in my arms ! I will awa\ &c. There blythly will I rant and fing, While o'er her fweets I range, I'll cry, Your humble fervant, King, Shame fa' them that wad change. A kifs of Betty and a fmile, A'beit ye wad lay down The right ye hae to Britain's ifle, And offer me ye'r crown. I will awa\ &c. <^$><$><$><$><$><$>^>^>^>^><$><$«$>^>'$>'$><$><$>4><^'$«$>^>^'^>4xS><$><$><$>^>'$><$><$><$> <$><$> <$><$><$> O'er the Moor to Maggy. AND I'll o'er the moor to Maggy, Her wit and fweetnefs call me ; Then to my fair I'll fhow my mind, Whatever may befal me. Ii fhe love mirth, I'll learn to fing ; Or likes the Nine to follow, I'll lay my lugs in Pindus' fpring, And invocate Apollo. If fhe admire a martial mind, I'll fheath my limbs in armour ; If to the fofter dance inclin'd, With gayeft airs I'll charm her : If fhe love grandeur, day and night, I'll plot my nation's glory, Find favour in my prince's fight, And fhine in future ftory. OF CHOICE SONGS. 67 Beauty can wonders work with eafe, Where wit is correfponding ; And braveft men know beft to pleafe, With complaifance abounding. My bonny Maggy's love can turn Me to what fhape fhe pleafes, If in her breaft that flame fhall burn, Which in my bofom blazes. Polwart on the Green. /IT Polwart on the Green •**■ If you'll ?neet me the morn, Where laffes do convene To dance about the thorn, A kindly welcome you fhall meet Frae her wha likes to view A lover and a lad complete, The lad and lover you. Let dorty dames fay Na, As lang as e'er they pleafe, Seem caulder than the ma', While inwardly they bleeze ; But I will frankly fhaw my mind, And yield my heart to thee ; Be ever to the captive kind, That langs na to be free. At Polwart on the green, Amang the new-mawn hay, With fangs and dancing keen We'll pafs the heartfome day. At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid, And thou be twirtd of thine, TJwufJialt be welcome, my dear lad, To take a part of mine. 68 A COLLECTION John Hay's Bonny Laffie. BY fmooth winding Tay a fwain was reclining, Aft cry'd he, Oh hey ! maun I Hill live pining Myfell thus away, and darna difcover To my bonny Hay that I am her lover ? Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes ftranger : If fhe's not my bride, my days are na langer : Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture, May be, ere we part, my vows may content her. She's frefh as the fpring, and fweet as Aurora, When birds mount and fing, bidding day a good mor- The fward of the mead, enamel'd with dairies, [row. Look wither'd and dead, when twin'd of her graces. But if (he appear where verdures invite her, The fountains run clear, and flow'rs fmell the fweeter : 'Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a-flowing, Her fmiles and bright eye fet my fpirits a-glowing. The mair that I gaze the deeper I'm wounded ; Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded : I'm all on a fire, dear maid, to carefs ye, For a' my defire is Hay's bonny laffie. Katharine Ogie. A S walking forth to view the plain, ■*"*- Upon a morning early, While May's fweet fcent did chear my brain, From flow'rs which grew fo rarely : I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid, She fhiii'd, though it was foggy ; I afk'd her name : Sweet Sir, fhe faid, My name is Katharine Ogie. OF CHOICE SONGS. 69 I Hood a while, and did admire, To fee a nymph fo ftately ; So brifk an air there did appear In a country-maid fo neatly : Such natural fweetnefs fhe difplay'd, Like a lilie in a boggie ; Diana's felf was ne'er array'd Like this fame Katharine Ogie. Thou flow'r of females, beauty's queen, Who fees thee, fure muft prize thee ; Though thou art drefs'd in robes but mean, Yet thefe cannot difguife thee ; Thy handfome air, and graceful look, Far excels any clownifh rogie ; Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke, My charming Katharine Ogie. O were I but fome fhepherd fwain ! To feed my flock befide thee, At boughting time to leave the plain, In milking to abide thee; I'd think myfelf a happier man, With Kate, my club, and dogie, Than he that hugs his thoufands ten, Had I but Katharine Ogie. Then I'd defpife th' imperial throne, And ftatefmen's dang'rous ftations : I'd be no King, I'd wear no crown, I'd fmile at conq'ring nations : Might I carefs and ftill poffefs This lafs of whom I'm vogie ; For thefe are toys, and ftill look lefs, Compar'd with Katharine Ogie. But I fear the gods have not decreed For me fo fine a creature, Whofe beauty rare makes her exceed All other works in nature. 7 o A COLLECTION Clouds of defpair furround my love, That are both dark and foggy : Pity my cafe, ye powers above, Elfe I die for Katharine Ogie. ><^ Q^^ The Gaberlunzie-man. HHHE pawky auld carle came o'er the lee, -*- Wi' mony good e'ens and days to me, Saying, Goodwife, for your courtefie, Will you lodge a filly poor man ? The night was cauld, the carl was wat, And down ayont the ingle he fat ; My doughter's fhoulders he 'gan to clap, And cadgily ranted and fang. OF CHOICE SONGS. 81 O wow ! quo' he, were I as free As firfl when I faw this country, How blyth and merry wad I be ! And I wad never think lang. He grew canty, and fhe grew fain ; But little did her auld minny ken What thir flee twa togither were fay'ng, When wooing they were fae thrang. And O ! quo' he, an ye were as black As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 'Tis I wad lay thee by my back, And awa' wi' me thou (hou'd gang. And O ! quo' (he, an I were as white As e'er the fnaw lay on the dike, I'd dead me braw and lady-like, And awa' with thee I wou'd gang. Between the twa was made a plot ; They raife a wee before the cock, And wilily they fhot the lock, And faft to the bent are gane. Up in the morn the auld wife raife, And at her leifure put on her claife, Syne to the fervant's bed (he gaes, To fpeer for the filly poor man. She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, The ftrae was cauld, he was away, She clapt her hand, cry'd, Waladay, For fome of our gear will be gane. Some ran to coffers and fome to kids, But nought was down that cou'd be mill ; She danc'd her lane, cry'd, Praife be bleft, I have lodg'd a leal poor man. Since naething's awa', as we can learn, The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn, Gae but the houfe, lafs, and waken my bairn, And bid her come quickly ben. G 82 A COLLECTION The fervant gaed where the doughter lay, The fheets were cauld, (he was away, And fad to her goodwife did fay, She's aff with the Gaberlunzie-man. O fy gar ride, and fy gar rin, And hafte ye find thefe traitors again ; For fhe's be burnt, and he's be flain, The wearifu' Gaberlunzie-man. Some rade upo' horfe, fome ran a-fit, The wife was wood, and out o' her wit : She cou'd na gang, nor yet cou'd fhe fit, But ay fhe curs'd and fhe bann'd. Mean time far hind out o'er the lee, Fu' fnug in a glen, where nane cou'd fee, The twa, with kindly fport and glee, Cut frae a new cheefe a whang : The priving was good, it pleas'd them baith, To lo'e her for ay, he gae her his aith, Quo' fhe, to leave thee I will be laith, My winfome Gaberlunzie-man. O kend my minny I were wi' you, Ill-fardly wad fhe crook her mou', Sic a poor man fhe'd never trow, After the Gaberlunzie-man. My dear, quo' he, ye're yet o'er young, And hae nae learn'd the beggar's tongue, To follow me frae town to town, And carry the Gaberlunzie on. Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread, And fpindles and whorles for them wha need, Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, To carry the Gaberlunzie on. I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee, And draw a black clout o'er my eye, A cripple or blind they will ca' me, While we (hall be merry and fing. I. OF CHOICE SONGS. 83 The Cordial. Tune — Where Jliatt our goodman lie ? H E. WHERE wad bonny Annie lie 1 Alane nae mair ye maun lie ; Wad ye a goodman try 1 Is that the thing ye're lacking ! SHE. Can a lafs fae young as I Venture on the bridal-tie, Syne down with a goodman lie ? I'm flee'd he keep me wauking. H E. Never judge until ye try, Mak me your goodman, I Shanna hinder you to lie, And fleep till ye be weary. SHE. What if I fhou'd wauking lie, When the hoboys are gawn by, Will ye tent me when I cry, My dear, I'm faint and iry? H E. In my bofom thou fhalt lie, When thou waukrife art, or dry, Healthy cordial Handing by, Shall prefently revive thee. SHE. To your will I then comply, Join us, Prieft, and let me try How I'll wi' a goodman lie, Wha can a cordial give me. 84 A COLLECTION Ew-Bughts Marion. "\1/'ILL ye go to the ew-bughts, Marion, * * And wear in the fheep wi' me 1 The fun mines fweet, my Marion, But nae half fae fweet as thee. O Marion's a bonny lafs, And the blyth blink's in her eye ; And fain wad I marry Marion, Gin Marion wad marry me. There's gowd in your garters, Marion, And filk on your white haufs-bane ; Fu' fain wad I kifs my Marion, At even when I come hame. There's braw lads in Earnflaw, Marion, Wha gape, and glowr with their eye, At kirk, when they fee my Marion ; But nane of them lo'es like me. I've nine milk-ewes, my Marion ; A cow and a brawny quey, I'll gi'e them a' to my Marion, Jufl on her bridal-day ; And ye's get a green fey apron, And waiflcoat of the London brown, And wow but ye will be vap'ring, Whene'er ye gang to the town. I'm young and flout, my Marion ; Nane dances like me on the green : And gin ye forfake me, Marion, I'll e'en gae draw up wi' Jean : Sae put on your pearlins, Marion, And kyrtle of the cramafie ; And foon as my chin has nae hair on, I mail come weft, and fee ye. Q. OF CHOICE SONGS. 85 The Blythsome Bridal. FY let us a' to the bridal, For there will be lilting there ; For Jocky's to be married to Maggie, The lafs wi' the gowden hair. And there will be lang-kail and pottage, And bannocks of barley-meal ; And there will be good fawt herring, To relifh a cog of good ale. Fy let us a! to the bridal, &c. And there will be Sawney the futor, And Will wi' the meikle mou' ; And there will be Tam the blutter, With Andrew the tinkler, I trow ; And there will be bow-legg'd Robbie, With thumblefs Katy's goodman ; And there will be blue-cheeked Dowbie, And Lawrie the laird of the land. Fy let us, &c. And there will be fow-libber Patie, And plucky-fac'd Wat i' the mill, Caper-nos'd Francie and Gibbie, That wins in the how of the hill ; And there will be Alafter Sibbie, Wha in with black Beffie did mool, With fnivelling Lilly and Tibby, The lafs that ftands aft on the ftool. Fy let us, &c. And Madge that was buckled to Steenie, And coft him grey breeks to his arfe, Who after was hangit for Healing, Great mercy it happen'd na warfe : 86 A COLLECTION And there will be gleed Geordy Janners, And Kirfh wi' the lilly-white leg, Wha gade to the fouth for manners, And bang'd up her wame in Mons-meg. Fy let us, &c. And there will be Judan Maclawrie, And blinkin daft Barbara Macleg, Wi' flae-lugged fharney-fac'd Lawrie, And fhangy-mou'd haluket Meg. And there will be happer-ars'd Nanfy, And fairy-fac'd Flowrie by name, Muck Madie, and fat-hippit Grify, The lafs wi' the gowden wame. Fy let us, &c. And there will be Girn-again-Gibbie, With his glaikit wife Jenny Bell, And mifle-fhinn'd Mungo Macapie, The lad that was fkipper himfell. There lads and laffes in pearlings Will feaft in the heart of the ha', On fybows, and rifarts, and carlings, That are baith fodden and raw. Fy let us, &c. And there will be fadges and brachan, With fowth of good gabbocks of fkate, Powfowdy, and drammock, and crowdy, And cauler nowt-feet in a plate : And there will be partans and buckies, And whitens and fpeldings enew, With finged fheep-heads, and a haggies, And fcadlips to fup till ye fpew. Fy let us, &c. And there will be lapper'd-milk kebbocks, And fowens, and farls, and baps, With fwats, and well-fcraped paunches, And brandy in ftoups and in caps : OF CHOICE SONGS. 87 And there will be meal-kail and caftocks, With (kink to fup till ye rive, And roafls to roafl on a brander, Of flowks that were taken alive. Fy let us, &c. Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dulfe and tangle, And a mill of good fnifhing to prie ; When weary with eating and drinking, We'll rife up and dance till we die. Thenfy let us a' to the bridal, For there will be lilting there; For Jocky's to be married to Maggie, The lafs wi' the gowden hair. :«>* T The Highland Laddie. HE lawland lads think they are fine ; But O they're vain and idly gaudy ! How much unlike that gracefu' mien, And manly looks of my highland laddie % O my bonny, bonny highland laddie, My handfome, charming highland laddie; May heaven JIM guard, and love reward Our lawland lafs and her highland laddie. If I were free at will to chufe To be the wealthieft lawland lady, I'd take young Donald without trews, With bonnet blew, and belted plaidy. O my bonny, &c. The braweft beau in borrows-town, In a' his airs, with art made ready, Compar'd to him, he's but a clown ; He's finer far in's tartan plaidy. O my bonny, &c. 88 A COLLECTION O'er benty hill with him I'll run, And leave my lawland kin and dady ; Frae winter's cauld, and fummer's fun, He'll fcreen me with his highland plaidy. O my bonny, &c. A painted room, and filken bed, May pleafe a lawland laird and lady ; But I can kifs, and be as glad, Behind a bufh in's highland plaidy. O my bonny, &c. Few compliments between us pafs, I ca' him my dear highland laddie, And he ca's me his lawland lafs, Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy. O my bonny, &c. Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend, Than that his love prove true and fteady, Like mine to him, which ne'er mail end, While heaven preferves my highland laddie. O my bonny, &c. Allan Water. Or, My Love Annie's very bonny. "\ "X 7"HAT numbers (hall the mufe repeat 1 * » What verfe be found to praife my Annie ? On her ten thoufand graces wait, Each fwain admires, and owns (he's bonny. Since firfl (he trod the happy plain, She fet each youthful heart on fire ; Each nymph does to her fwain complain, That Annie kindles new defire. OF CHOICE SONGS. 89 This lovely darling deareft care, This new delight, this charming Annie, Like fummer's dawn, (he's freih and fair, When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. All day the am'rous youths conveen, Joyous they fport and play before her ; All night, when (he no more is feen, In blifsful dreams they ftill adore her. Among the crowd Amyntor came, He look'd, he lov'd, he bow'd to Annie ; His rifmg fighs exprefs his flame, His words were few, his wifhes many. With fmiles the lovely maid reply' d, Kind (hepherd, why mould I deceive ye ? Alas ! your love muft be deny'd, This deftin'd bread can ne'er relieve ye. Young Damon came with Cupid's art, His wiles, his fmiles, his charms beguiling, He dole away my virgin heart ; Ceafe, poor Amyntor, ceafe bewailing. Some brighter beauty you may find, On yonder plain the nymphs are many ; Then chufe fome heart that's unconfin'd, And leave to Damon his own Annie. C. The Collier's Bonny Laffie. THE collier has a daughter, And O (he's wonder bonny ; A laird he was that fought her, Rich baith in lands and money : The tutors watch'd the motion Of this young honeft lover ; But love is like the ocean ; Wha can its depth difcover ? 90 A COLLECTION He had the art to pleafe ye, And was by a' refpected ; His airs fat round him eafy, Genteel, but unaffected. The collier's bonny laffie, Fair as the new-blown lillie, Ay fweet, and never faucy, Secur'd the heart of Willie. He lov'd beyond expreffion The charms that were about her, And panted for poifeffion, His life was dull without her. After mature refolving, Clofe to his bread he held her, In fafteft flames diffolving, He tenderly thus tell'd her : My bonny collier's daughter, Let naething difcompofe ye, 'Tis no your fcanty tocher Shall ever gar me lofe ye : For I have gear in plenty, And love fays, 'Tis my duty To ware what heav'n has lent me Upon your wit and beauty. Where Helen lies. To in mourning. A H ! why thofe tears in Nelly's eyes 1 ■**• To hear thy tender fighs and cries, The gods Hand lifl'ning from the Ikies, Pleas'd with thy piety. OF CHOICE SONGS. 91 To mourn the dead, dear nymph, forbear, And of one dying take a care, Who views thee as an angel fair, Or fome divinity. O be lefs graceful, or more kind, And cool this fever of my mind, Caus'd by the boy fevere and blind ; Wounded, I figh for thee ; While hardly dare I hope to rife To fuch a height by Hymen's ties, To lay me down where Helen lies, And with thy charms be free. Then muft I hide my love, and die, When fuch a foveregn cure is by ? No ; fhe can love, and I'll go try, Whate'er my fate may be ; Which foon I'll read in her bright eyes, With thofe dear agents I'll advife, They tell the truth when tongues tell lies, The leaft believ'd by me. SONG. Tune — GaUowJhiels. AH the fhepherd's mournful fate, When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languifh, To bear the fcornful fair one's hate, Nor dare disclofe his anguifh. Yet eager looks, and dying fighs, My secret foul difcover, While rapture trembling through mine eyes, Reveals how much I love her ; 92 A COLLECTION The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek, O'erfpread with riling blulhes, A thoufand various ways they speak A thoufand various wilhes. For oh ! that form fo heavenly fair, Thofe languid eyes fo fweetly fmiling, That artlefs blufli, and modeft air, So fatally beguiling. Thy every look, and every grace, So charm whene'er I view thee ; Till death o'ertake me in the chace, Still will my hopes purfue thee. Then when my tedious hours are paft, Be this laft bleffing given, Low at thy feet to breathe my laft, And die in fight of heaven. To L. M. M. Tune — Ra?itin roaring Willie. r\ MARY ! thy graces and glances, ^-S Thy fmiles fo enchantingly gay, And thoughts fo divinely harmonious, Clear wit and good humour difplay. But fay not thou'lt imitate angels Ought fairer, though fcarcely, ah me ! Can be found equalizing thy merit, A match amongft mortals for thee. Thy many fair beauties fhed fires May warm up ten thoufand to love, Who defpairing, may fly to fome other, While I may defpair, but ne'er rove. OF CHOICE SONGS. 93 What a mixture of fighing and joys This diftant adoring of thee, Gives to a fond heart too afpiring, Who loves in fad filence like me 1 Thus looks the poor beggar on treafure, And fhipwreck'd, on landfcapes on fhore : Be ftill more divine and have pity ; I die foon as hope is no more. For, Mary, my foul is thy captive, Nor love, nor expects to be free ; Thy beauties are fetters delightful, Thy flav'ry's a pleafure to me. This is no mine ain Houfe. HPHIS is not mine ain houfe, ■*■ I ken by the rigging o't ; Since with my love I've changed vows, I dinna like the bigging o't. For now that I'm young Robie's bride, And miftrefs of his fire-fide, Mine ain houfe I like to guide, And pleafe me with the trigging o't. Then farewell to my father's houfe, I gang where love invites me ; The stricteft duty this allows, When love with honour meets me. When Hymen moulds us into ane, My Robie's nearer than my kin, And to refufe him were a fin, Sae lang's he kindly treats me. When I'm in mine ain houfe, True love fhall be at hand ay, To make me ftill a prudent fpoufe, And let my man command ay ; 94 A COLLECTION Avoiding ilka caufe of ftrife, The common pell of married life, That makes ane wearied of his wife, And breaks the kindly band ay. Fint a Crum of thee fhe faws. RETURN hameward, my heart, again, And bide where thou was wont to be, Thou art a fool to fuffer pain For love of ane that loves not thee. My heart, let be fie fantafie, Love only where thou haft good caufe ; Since fcorn and liking ne'er agree, The fint a crum of thee fhe faws. To what effea fhould thou be thrall ? Be happy in thine ain free-will, My heart, be never beftial, But ken wha does thee good or ill. At hame with me then tarry ftill, And fee wha can beft play their paws, And let the filly fling her fill,. For fint a crum of thee fhe faws. Though fhe be fair, I will not fenzie, She's of a kind with mony mae ; For why, they are a felon menzie That feemeth good, and are not fae. My heart, take neither fturt nor wae For Meg, for Marjory, or Maufe, But be thou blyth, and let her gae, For fint a crum of thee she faws. Remember, how that Medea Wild for a fight of Jafon yied, Remember, how young Creffida Left Troilus for Diomede ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 95 Remember Helen, as we read, Brought Troy from blifs unto bare waws : Then let her gae where fhe may fpeed, For fint a crum of thee fhe faws. Becaufe fhe faid I took it ill, For her depart my heart was fair, But was beguil'd ; gae where fhe will, Befhrew the heart that firft takes care : But be thou merry late and air, This is the final end and claufe, And let her feed and foully fair, For fint a crum of thee fhe faws. Ne'er dunt again within my breaft, Ne'er let her flights thy courage fpill. Nor gie a fob, although fhe fneeft, She's faireft paid that gets her will. She geeks as gif I mean'd her ill, When fhe glaicks paughty in her braws ; Now let her fnirt and fyke her fill, For fint a crum of thee fhe faws. Z. To Mrs. E. C. Tune — Sae merry as we have been. NOW Phoebus advances on high, Nae footfteps of winter are feen j The birds carrol fweet in the fky, And lambkins dance reels on the green. Through plantings, and burnies fae clear, We wander for pleafure and health, Where buddings and bloflbms appear, Giving profpects of joy and wealth. 96 A COLLECTION View ilka gay fcene all around, That are, and that promife to be ; Yet in them a' naething is found Sae perfect, Eliza, as thee. Thy een the clear fountains excel, Thy locks they outrival the grove ; When zephyrs thus pleafingly fwell, Ilk wave makes a captive to love. The rofes and lilies combin'd, And flowers of maift delicate hue, By thy cheek and dear breafts are outfhin'd, Their tinctures are naithing fae true. What can we compare with thy voice, And what with thy humour fae fweet 1 Nae mufic can blefs with fie joys ; Sure angels are juft fae complete. Fair bloffom of ilka delight, Whofe beauties ten thoufand outfhine : Thy fweet fhall be lafting and bright, Being mix'd with fae many divine. Ye pow'rs, who have given fie charms To Eliza, your image below, O fave her frae all human harms ! And make her hours happily flow. My Daddy forbad, my Minny forbad. WHEN I think on my lad, I figh and am fad, For now he is far frae me. My daddy was harfh, My minny was warfe, That gart him gae yont the fea. OF CHOICE SONGS. 97 Without an eftate, That made him look blate : And yet a brave lad is he. Gin fafe he come hame, In fpite of my dame, He'll ever be welcome to me. Love fpeers nae advice Of parents o'er wife, That have but ae bairn like me, That looks upon cafh, As naething but tram, That fhakles what fhou'd be free. And though my dear lad Not ae penny had, Since qualities better has he ; A'beit I'm an heirefs, I think it but fair is, To love him, fince he loves rne. *> Then, my dear Jamie, To thy kind Jeanie, Hafte, hafte thee in o'er the fea, To her wha can find Nae eafe in her mind, Without a blyth fight of thee. Though my daddy forbad, And my minny forbad, Forbidden I will not be ; For fince thou alone My favour had won, Nane elfe fhall e'er get it for me. Yet them I'll not grieve, Or without their leave Gi'e my hand as a wife to thee : Be content with a heart, That can never defert, Till they ceafe to oppofe or be. H 98 A COLLECTION My parents may prove Yet friends to our love, When our firm refolves they fee ; Then I with pleafure Will yield up my treafure, And a' that love orders to thee. 4iHiH|H|><4HHM*^H|H(HHH|HH^ Tune — Steer her up, and had her gawn. O STEER her up, and had her gawn, Her mither's at the mill, jo ; But gin fhe winna tak a man, E'en let her tak her will, jo. Pray thee, lad, leave filly thinking, Caft thy cares of love away ; Let's our forrows drown in drinking, 'Tis damn langer to delay. See that mining glafs of claret, How invitingly it looks ; Take it aff, and let's hae mair o't, Pox on fighting, trade, and books. Let's have pleafure while we're able, Bring us in the meikle bowl, Place't on the middle of the table, And let wind and weather gowl. Call the drawer, let him fill it Fou, as ever it can hold : O tak tent ye dinna fpill it, 'Tis mair precious far than gold. By you've drunk a dozen bumpers, Bacchus will begin to prove, Spite of Venus and her Mumpers, Drinking better is than love. OF CHOICE SONGS. 99 Clout the Caldron. "LT AVE you any pots or pans, "■"-*■ Or any broken chandlers ? I am a tinkler to my trade, And newly come frae Flanders, As fcant of filler as of grace, Difbanded, we've a bad run ; Gar tell the lady of the place, I'm come to clout her caldron. Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c. Madam, if you have wark for me, I'll do't to your contentment, And dinna care a fmgle flie For any man's refentment ; For, lady fair, though I appear To ev'ry ane a tinkler, Yet to yourfell I'm bauld to tell, I am a gentle j inker. Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c. Love Jupiter into a fwan Turn'd for his lovely Leda ; He like a bull o'er meadows ran, To carry aff Europa. Then may not I, as well as he, To cheat your Argos blinker, And win your love, like mighty Jove, Thus hide me in a tinkler? Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c. Sir, ye appear a cunning man, But this fine plot you'll fail in, For there is neither pot nor pan Of mine you'll drive a nail in. ioo A COLLECTION Then bind your budget on your back, And nails up in your apron, For I've a tinkler under tack That's us'd to clout my caldron. Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c. ^*h8^^^4mS*^^*^*^^S*-*2*-*2*-*S$-*8*-*2s- The Malt-Man. HPHE malt-man comes on Munday, ■*■ He craves wonder fair, Cries, Dame, come gi'e me my filler, Or malt ye fall ne'er get mair. I took him into the pantry, And gave him fome good cock-broo, Syne paid him upon a gantree, As hoftler-wives mould do. When malt-men come for filler, And gaugers with wands o'er foon, Wives, tak them a' down to the cellar, And clear them as I have done. This bewith, when cunzie is fcanty, Will keep them frae making din ; The knack I learn'd frae an auld aunty, The fnackeft of a' my kin. The malt-man is right cunning, But I can be as flee, And he may crack of his winning, When he clears fcores with me : For come when he likes, I'm ready ; But if frae hame I be, Let him wait on our kind lady, She'll anfwer a bill for me. OF CHOICE SONGS. 101 Bonny Bessy. Tune — Bejjy's Haggies. BESSY'S beauties fhine fae bright, Were her many virtues fewer, She wad ever give delight, And in tranfport make me view her. Bonny Beffy, thee alane Love I, naething elfe about thee ; With thy comelinefs I'm tane, And langer cannot live without thee. Berry's bofom's faft and warm, Milk-white fingers ftill employ'd ; He who takes her to his arm, Of her fweets can ne'er be cloy'd. My dear Beffy, when the rofes Leave thy cheek, as thou grows aulder, Virtue, which thy mind difclofes, Will keep love frae growing caulder. Beffy's tocher is but fcanty. Yet her face and foul difcovers Thefe inchanting fweets in plenty Muft entice a thoufand lovers. 'Tis not money, but a woman Of a temper kind and eafy, That gives happinefs uncommon, Petted things can nought but teaze ye. Omnia vincit Amor. AS I went forth to view the fpring, -^*- Which Flora had adorned In raiment fair ; now every thing The rage of winter fcorned : 102 A COLLECTION I caft mine eye, and did efpy A youth, who made great clamor ; And drawing nigh, I heard him cry, Ah ! omnia vincit amor. Upon his breaft he lay along, Hard by a murm'ring river, And mournfully his doleful fong "With fighs he did deliver : Ah ! Jeany's face has comely grace, Her locks that fhine like lammer, With burning rays have cut my days ; For omnia viticit amor. Her glancy een like comets fheen, The morning-fun outfhining, Have caught my heart in Cupid's net, And make me die with pining. Durft I complain, nature's to blame, So curioufly to frame her, Whofe beauties rare make me with care Cry, Omnia vincit amor. Ye cryftal ftreams that fwiftly glide, Be partners of my mourning, Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide, Condemn her for her fcorning : Let every tree a witnefs be, How juftly I may blame her ; Ye chanting birds, note thefe my words, Ah ! omnia vincit amor. Had fhe been kind as fhe was fair, She long had been admired, And been ador'd for virtues rare, Wh' of life now makes me tired. Thus faid, his breath began to fail, He could not fpeak, but ftammer ; He figh'd full fore, and faid no more, But omnia vincit amor. OF CHOICE SONGS. 103 When I obferv'd him near to death, I ran in hafle to fave him, But quickly he refigned his breath, So deep the wound love gave him. Now for her fake this vow I'll make, My tongue fhall ay defame her, While on his herfe I'll write this verfe, Ah ! omnia vincit amor. Straight I confider'd in my mind Upon the matter rightly, And found, though Cupid he be blind, He proves in pith molt mighty. For warlike Mars, and thund'ring Jove, And Vulcan with his hammer, Did ever prove the flaves of love, For omnia vincit amor. Hence we may fee th' effects of love, Which gods and men keep under, That nothing can his bonds remove, Or torments break afunder : Nor wife, nor fool, need go to fchool, To learn this from his grammar ; His heart's the book where he's to look, For omnia vincit amor. Q. The auld Wife beyont the Fire. 1. THERE was a wife won'd in a glen, And fhe had dochters nine or ten, That fought the houfe baith but and ben, To find their mam a fnifhing. The auld wife beyont the fire, The auld wife ajtiefl the fire, The auld wife aboon the fire, She died for lack of fnifliing. io 4 A COLLECTION ii. Her mill into fome hole had fawn, Whatrecks, quoth (he, let it be gawn, For I maun hae a young goodman Shall furnifh me with fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. in. Her eldefl dochter faid right bauld, Fy, mother, mind that now ye're auld, And if ye with a younker wald, He'll wafte away your fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. IV. The youngeft dochter gae a fhout, O mother dear ! your teeth's a' out, Befides ha'f blind, you have the gout, Your mill can haud nae fnifhing. T7ie auld wife, &c. Ye lied, ye limmers, cries auld mump, For I hae baith a tooth and ftump, And will nae langer live in dump, By wanting of my fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. VI. Thole ye, fays Peg, that pawky flut, Mother, if ye can crack a nut, Then we will a' confent to it, That you fhall have a fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. Note— Snifhing, in its literal meaning, is fnuff made of tobacco ; but, in this fong, it means fometimes contentment, a hufband, love, money, &c. OF CHOICE SONGS. 105 VII. The auld ane did agree to that, And they a piflol bullet gat ; She powerfully began to crack, To win herfell a fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. VIII. Braw fport it was to fee her chow't, And 'tween her gums fae fqueez and row't, While frae her jaws the flaver flow'd, And ay fhe curs'd poor ftumpy. The auld wife, &c. IX. At laft fhe gae a defperate fqueez, Which brak the lang tooth by the neez, And fyne poor ftumpy was at eafe, But fhe tint hopes of fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. x. She of the tafk began to tire, And frae her dochters did retire, Syne lean'd her down ayont the fire, And died for lack of fnifhing. The auld wife, &c. XI. Ye auld wives, notice well this truth, Alfoon as ye're paft mark of mouth, Ne'er do what's only fit for youth, And leave aff thoughts of fnifhing : Elfe, like this wife beyont the fire, Ye'r bairns agai?ifl you will confpire ; Nor will ye get, unlefs ye hire, A young ?nan with your fnifhing. Q. io6 A COLLECTION I'll never love thee more. MY dear and only love, I pray, That little world of thee, ( Be govern'd by no other fway, But pureft monarchy : For if confufion have a part, Which virtuous fouls abhor, I'll call a fynod in my heart, And never love thee more. As Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone, My thoughts did evermore difdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deferts are fmall, Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lofe it all. But I will reign, and govern ftill, And always give the law, And have each fubject at my will, And all to ftand in awe : But 'gainft my batt'ries if I find Thou ftorm or vex me fore, As if thou fet me as a blind, I'll never love thee more. And in the empire of thy heart, Where I fhould folely be, If others do pretend a part, Or dares to fhare with me, Or committees if thou erect, Or go on fuch a fcore, I'll fmiling, mock at thy neglect, And never love thee more. OF CHOICE SONGS. 107 But if no faithlefs action flain Thy love and conflant word, I'll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my fword. I'll ferve thee in fuch noble ways, As ne'er was known before ; I'll deck and crown thy head with bays, And love thee more and more. The Blackbird. T PON a fair morning, for foft recreation, **-' I heard a fair lady was making her moan, With fighing and fobbing, and fad lamentation, Saying, my blackbird moft royal is flown. My thoughts they deceive me, Reflections do grieve me, And I am o'erburden'd with fad mifery ; Yet, if death fhould blind me, As true love inclines me, My blackbird I'll feek out, wherever he be. Once in fair England my blackbird did flourifh, He was the chief flower that in it did fpring ; Prime ladies of honour his perfon did nourifh, Becaufe he was the true fon of a king : But fince that falfe fortune, Which ftill is uncertain, Has caufed this parting between him and me, His name I'll advance In Spain and in France, And feek out my blackbird wherever he be. The birds of the foreft all met together, The turtle has chofen to dwell with the dove ; And I am refolv'd, in foul or fair weather, Once in the fpring to feek out my love. io8 A COLLECTION He's all my heart's treafure, My joy and my pleafure ; And juflly (my love) my heart follows thee, Who art conftant and kind, And courageous of mind, All blifs on my blackbird wherever he be. In England my blackbird and I were together, Where he was Mill noble and gen'rous of heart ; Ah ! wo to the time that firft he went thither, Alas ! he was forc'd from thence to depart. In Scotland he's deem'd, And highly efteem'd, In England he feemeth a ftranger to be ; Yet his fame fhall remain In France and in Spain ; All blifs to my blackbird, wherever he be. What if the fowler my blackbird has taken, Then fighing and fobbing will be all my tune ; But if he is fafe, I'll not be forfaken, And hope yet to fee him in May or in June. For him through the fire, Through mud and through mire, I'll go j for I love him to fuch a degree, Who is conftant and kind, And noble of mind, Deferving all bleffings, wherever he be. It is not the ocean can fright me with danger, Nor though, like a pilgrim, I wander forlorn, I may meet with friendfhip of one is a ftranger, More than of one that in Britain is born. I pray heaven fo fpacious, To Britain be gracious, Tho' fome there be odious to both him and me ; Yet joy and renown, And laurels fhall crown My blackbird with honour, wherever he be. OF CHOICE SONGS. 109 Tak your Auld Cloak about ye. IN winter when the rain rain'd cauld, And froft and fnaw on ilka hill, And Boreas, with his blafts fae bald, Was threat'ning a' our ley to kill . Then Bell, my wife, wha loves na ftrife, She faid to me right haftily, Get up, goodman, fave Cromie's life, And tak your auld cloak about ye. My Cromie is an ufeful cow, And fhe is come of a good kine ; Aft has lhe wet the bairns' mou', And I am laith that fhe fhou'd tyne ; Get up, goodman, it is fou time, The fun mines in the lift fae hie ; Sloth never made a gracious end : Go tak your auld cloak about ye. My cloak was anes a good grey cloak, When it was fitting for my wear ; But now it's fcantly worth a groat, For I have worn't thefe thirty year : Let's fpend the gear that we have won, We little ken the day we'll die : Then I'll be proud, fince I have fworn To have a new cloak about me. In days when our King Robert rang, His trews they coft but ha'f a crown ; He faid, they were a groat o'er dear, And call'd the taylor thief and loun. He was the king that wore the crown, And thou'rt a man of laigh degree ; 'Tis pride puts a' the country down, Sae tak thy auld cloak about thee. no A COLLECTION Every land has its ain laugh, Ilk kind of corn it has its hool ; I think the warld is a' run wrang, When ilka wife her man wad rule. Do ye not fee Rob, Jock, and Hab, As they are girded gallantly, While I fit hurklen in the afe 1 I'll have a new cloak about me. Goodman, I wat it's thirty years Since we did ane anither ken ; And we have had between us twa, Of lads and bonny laffes ten : Now they are women grown and men, I wifh and pray well may they be ; And if you prove a good hufband, E'en tak yer auld cloak about ye. Bell, my wife, fhe loves na ftrife ; But fhe wad guide me, if fhe can, And to maintain an eafy life, I aft maun yield, though I'm goodman Nought's to be won at woman's hand, Unlefs ye give her a' the plea : Then I'll leave aff where I began, And tak my auld cloak about me. The Quadruple Alliance. Tune — -Jocky Myth and gay. C WIFT, Sandy, Young, and Gay, ^ Are flill my heart's delight, I fing their fangs by day, And read their tales at night. OF CHOICE SON GS. in If frae their books I be, 'Tis dulnefs then with me ; But when thefe ftars appear, Jokes, fmiles, and wit mine clear. Swift, with uncommon ftyle, And wit that flows with eafe, Instructs us with a fmile, And never fails to pleafe. Bright Sandy gladly fings, Of heroes, gods, and kings : He well deferves the bays, And every Briton's praife. While thus our Homer fhines, Young, with Horatian flame, Corrects thefe falfe defigns We pufh in love of fame. Blyth Gay, in pawky drains, Makes villains, clowns, and fwains Reprove, with biting leer, Thofe in a higher fphere. Swift, Sandy, Young, and Gay, Long may you give delight ; Let all the dunces bray, You're far above their fpite : Such, from a malice four, Write nonfenfe, lame and poor, Which never can fucceed, For who the trafh will read 1 The end of the First Volume. A, A A, A, A A A A, As A A A A A in in is A is A is is in in A, A A A ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ ¥ <$> 4> <$> <$> <$> <$> <$> €> <♦> <$> 4> 4> 4> <$> <$> <$> <$> 4> <$> <$> 4> A A A, A As A A A A A A A A A A A A A A A «& i» «fe «-i» A As <•-?, A A COLLECTION OF CHOICE SONGS She fu Jig — the youth attention gave, And charms on charms efpies : Then all in raptures falls ajlave, Both to her voice and eyes. VOLUME II. To Clarinda. A SONG. Tune — / wiJJi my love were in a mire. )Z£SS'D as tlH immortal gods is he, B The youth who fondly Jits by thee, And hears and fees thee all the while Softly fpeak, and fweetly fmile, &c. So fpoke and fmil'd the eaflern maid ; Like thine, feraphic were her charms, That in Circafia's vineyards ftray'd, And blefs'd the wifeft monarch's arms. A thoufand fair of high defert, Strave to enchant the amorous king ; But the Circafian gain'd his heart, And taught the royal bard to fing. i ii 4 A COLLECTION Clarinda thus our fang infpires, And claims the fmooth and higheft lays, But while each charm our bofom fires, Words feem too few to found her praife. Her mind in ev'ry grace complete, To paint furpaffes human fkill : Her majefty, mix'd with the fweet, Let feraphs fing her if they will. Whilft wond'ring with a ravifh'd eye, We all that's perfect in her view, Viewing a filler of the fky, To whom an adoration's due. SONG. Tune — Lochaber no more. TTWREWELL to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean, ■*• Where heartfome with thee I've mony day been ; For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, We'll may be return to Lochaber no more. Thefe tears that I fhed, they are a' for my dear, And no for the dangers attending on weir, Tho' bore on rough feas to a far bloody fhore, May be to return to Lochaber no more. Tho' hurricanes rife, and rife ev'ry wind, They'll ne'er make a tempefl like that in my mind. Tho' loudeft of thunder on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the fhore. To leave thee behind me my heart is fair pain'd, By eafe that's inglorious, no fame can be gain'd. And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, And I muft deferve it before I can crave. OF CHOICE SONGS. 115 Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excufe, Since honour commands me, how can I refufe 1 Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, And without thy favour I'd better not be. I gae then, my lafs, to win honour and fame, And if I mould luck to come glorioufly hame, I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. The auld Goodman. LATE in an evening forth I went, A little before the fun gae'd down, And there I chanc'd by accident, To light on a battle new begun. A man and his wife was fa'n in a ftrife, I canna well tell you how it began ; But ay fhe wail'd her wretched life, And cry'd ever, Alake, my auld goodman. HE. Thy auld goodman that thou tells of, The country kens where he was born, Was but a filly poor vagabond, And ilka ane leugh him to fcorn ; For he did fpend, and make an end Of gear that his forefathers wan, He gart the poor ftand frae the door, Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. SHE. My heart, alake, is liken to break, When I think on my winfome John, His blinkin eye, and gate fae free, Was naething like thee, thou dofen'd drone. n6 A COLLECTION His rofie face, and flaxen hair, And a fkin as white as ony fwan, Was large and tall, and comely withal, And thou'lt never be like my auld goodman. HE. Why dofl thou pleen ? I thee maintain, For meal and mawt thou difna want ; But thy wild bees I canna pleafe, Now when our gear 'gins to grow fcant. Of houfhold fluff thou haft enough, Thou wants for neither pot nor pan ; Of fiklike ware he left thee bare, Sae tell nae mair of thy auld goodman. SHE. Yes, I may tell, and fret myfell, To think on thefe blyth days I had, When he and I together lay In arms into a well-made bed ; But now I figh and may be fad, Thy courage is cauld, thy colour wan, Thou falds thy feet, and fa's afleep, And thou'lt ne'er be like my auld goodman. Then coming was the night fae dark, And gane was a' the light o' day ; The carl was fear'd to mifs his mark, And therefore wad nae langer flay ; Then up he gat, and he ran his way, I trow the wife the day fhe wan, And ay the o'erword of the fray Was ever, Alake, my auld goodman. \ •¥ OF CHOICE SONGS. 117 SONG. Tune — Valiant Jocky. On a beautiful, hit very young lady. BEAUTY from fancy takes its arms, And ev'ry common face fome breaft may move. Some in a look, a fhape, or air find charms, To juftify their choice, or boaft their love. But had the great Apelles feen that face, When he the Cyprian goddefs drew, He had neglected all the female race, Thrown his firft Venus by, and copied you. In that defign, Great nature would combine To fix the flandard of her facred coin ; The charming figure had enhanc'd his fame, And fhrines been rais'd to Seraphina's name. 11. But fince no painter ere could take That face which baffles all his curious art ; And he that ftrives the bold attempt to make, As well might paint the fecrets of the heart. O happy glafs, I'll thee prefer, Content to be, like thee, inanimate, Since only to be gaz'd on thus by her, A better life and motion would create. Her eyes would infpire, And like Prometheus's fire, At once inform the piece and give defire ; The charming phantom I would grafp, and fly O'er all the orb, though in that moment die. in. Let meaner beauties fear the day, Whofe charms are fading, and fubmit to time ; The graces which from them it fteals away, It with a lavifh hand ftill adds to thine. G 118 A COLLECTION The god of love in ambufh lies, And with his arms furrounds the fair, He points his conquering arrows in thefe eyes, Then hangs a fharpen'd dart at ev'ry hair, As with fatal flcill, Turn which way you will, Like Eden's flaming-fword each way you kill ; So rip'ning years improve rich nature's ftore, And gives perfection to the golden ore. P. Lafs with a Lump of Land. I'E me a lafs with a lump of land, And we for life fhall gang the gither, Though daft or wife, I'll never demand, Or black or fair, it makfna whether. I'm aff with wit, and beauty will fade, And bloom alane is na worth a milling ; But fhe that's rich, her market's made, For ilka charm about her is killing. Gi'e me a lafs with a lump of land, And in my bofom I'll hug my treafure ; Gin I had anes her gear in my hand, Should love turn douf, it will find pleafure. Laugh on wha likes, but there's my hand, I hate with poortith, though bonny, to meddle, Unlefs they bring cafh, or a lump of land, Theyfe never get me to dance to their fiddle. There's meikle good love in bands and bags, And filler and gowd's a fweet complexion ; But beauty, and wit, and virtue in rags, Have tint the art of gaining affection : Love tips his arrows with woods and parks, And caftles, and riggs, and muirs, and meadows, And naithing can catch our modern fparks, But well-tocher'd laffes, or jointur'd widows. OF CHOICE SONGS. 119 The Shepherd Adonis. 1. THE fhepherd Adonis Being weary'd with fport, He, for a retirement, To the woods did refort ; He threw by his club, And he laid himfelf down ; He envy'd no monarch, Nor wifh'd for a crown. II. He drank of the burn, And he ate frae the tree, Himfelf he enjoy'd, And frae trouble was free. He wifh'd for no nymph, Though never fae fair, Had nae love nor ambition, And therefore no care. in. But as he lay thus In an ev'ning fae clear, A heavn'ly fweet voice Sounded faft in his ear ; Which came frae a fhady Green neighbouring grove, Where bonny Amynta Sat fmging of love. IV. He wander'd that way, And found wha was there, He was quite confounded To fee her fae fair : i2o A COLLECTION He flood like a flatue, Not a foot cou'd he move, Nor knew he what griev'd him ; But he fear'd it was love. The nymph fhe beheld him With a kind modefl grace, Seeing fomething that pleas'd her Appear in his face, With blufhing a little She to him did fay, Oh fhepherd ! what want ye, How came you this way ? VI. His fpirits reviving, He to her reply'd, I was ne'er fae furpris'd At the fight of a maid ; Until I beheld thee, From love I was free ; But now I'm ta'en captive, My faireft, by thee. Z. The Complaint. To B. I. G. Tune — When abfent, &c. WHEN abfent from the nymph I love, I'd fain lhake off the chains I wear ; But whilft I flrive thefe to remove, More fetters I'm oblig'd to bear. OF CHOICE SONGS. 121 My captiv'd fancy day and night Fairer and fairer reprefents Belinda form'd for dear delight, But cruel caufe of my complaints. All day I wander through the groves, And fighing hear from ev'ry tree The happy birds chirping their loves, Happy, compar'd with lonely me. When gentle fleep with balmy wings To reft fans ev'ry weary'd wight, A thoufand fears my fancy brings, That keep me watching all the night. Sleep flies, while like the goddefs fair, And all the graces in her train, With melting fmiles and killing air Appears the caufe of all my pain. A while my mind delighted flies O'er all her fweets with thirling joy, Whilft want of worth makes doubts arife, That all my trembling hopes deftroy. Thus while my thoughts are fixed on her, I'm all o'er tranfport and defire ; My pulfe beats high, my cheek appears All rofes, and mine eyes all fire. When to myfelf I turn my view, My veins grow chill, my cheeks look wan Thus whilft my fears my pains renew, I fcarcely look or move a man. The young Lafs contra auld Man. THE carl he came o'er the croft, And his beard new fhav'n, He look'd at me, as he'd been daft, The carl trows that I wad hae him. 122 A COLLECTION Howt awa, I winna hae him ! Na, forfooth, I winna hae him ! For a' his beard new fhav'n, Ne'er a bit will I hae him. A filler broach he gae me neift, To fallen on my curchea nooked, I wor'd a wee upon my breaft, But foon, alake ! the tongue o't crooked ; And fae may his, I winna hae him ! Na, forfooth, I winna hae him ! Ane twice a bairn's a lafs's jell ; Sae ony fool for me may hae him. The carl has na fault but ane ; For he has land and dollars plenty ; But waes me for him ! fkin and bane Is no for a plump lafs of twenty. Howt awa, I winna hae him ! Na, forfooth, I winna hae him ! What fignifies his dirty riggs, And cam, without a man with them But lhou'd my cankard daddy gar Me tak him 'gainft my inclination, I warn the fumbler to beware, That antlers dinna claim their flation. Howt awa, I winna hae him ! Na, forfooth, I winna hae him ! I'm fleed to crack the haly band, Sae lawty fays, I lhou'd na hae him. OF CHOICE SONGS. 123 Virtue and Wit. The Preservatives of Love and Beauty. Tune — Killikranky. HE. CONFESS thy love, fair blufhing maid, For fince thine eye's confenting, Thy fafter thoughts are a' betray'd, And na-fays no worth tenting. Why aims thou to oppofe thy mind, With words thy wifh denying % Since nature made thee to be kind, Reafon allows complying. Nature and reafon's joint confent Make love a facred bleffing, Then happily that time is fpent, That's war'd on kind careffing. Come then, my Katie, to my arms, I'll be nae mair a rover ; But find out heav'n in a' thy charms, And prove a faithful lover. SHE. What you defign, by nature's law, Is fleeting inclination, That Willy-Wifp bewilds us a' By its infatuation. When that goes out, careffes tire, And love's na mair in feafon, Syne weakly we blow up the fire, With all our boafted reafon. HE. The beauties of inferior caft May ftart this juft reflection ; But charms like thine maun always laft, Where wit has the protection. i2 4 A COLLECTION Virtue and Wit, like April rays, Make beauty rife the fweeter ; The langer then on thee I gaze, My love will grow completer. #^h^.^.^^.^.^^^HI^^3^^3^^# SONG. Tune — The happy down. TT was the charming month of May, ■*■ When all the flow'rs were frefh and gay, One morning by the break of day, Sweet Chloe, chafte and fair ; From peaceful number fhe arofe, Girt on her mantle and her hofe, And o'er the flow'ry mead fhe goes, To breathe a purer air. Her looks fo fweet, fo gay her mien, Her handfome fhape, and drefs fo clean, She look'd all o'er like beauty's queen, Dreft in her beft array. The gentle winds, and purling stream, Affay'd to whifper Chloe's name, The favage beafts, till then ne'er tame, Wild adoration pay. The feather'd people, one might fee, Perch'd all around her on a tree ; With notes of fweeteft melody They ac~l a chearful part. The dull flaves on the toilfome plow, Their wearied necks and knees do bow, A glad subjection there they vow, To pay with all their heart. OF CHOICE SONGS. 125 The bleating flocks that then came by, Soon as the charming nymph they fpy, They leave their hoarfe and rueful cry, And dance around the brooks, The woods are glad, the meadows fmile, And Forth, that foam'd and roar'd erewhile, Glides calmly down and fmooth as oil, Thro' all its charming crooks. The finny fquadrons are content To leave their wat'ry element, In glazie numbers down they bent, They flutter all along. The infedls and each creeping thing, Join'd to make up the rural ring ; All frifk and dance, if fhe but fing, And make a jovial throng. Kind Phoebus now began to rife, And paint with red the eaftern ikies, Struck with the glory of her eyes, He fhrinks behind a cloud. Her mantle on a bow fhe lays, And all her glory fhe difplays, She left all nature in amaze, And fkipp'd into the wood. X. Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament. BALOW, my boy, lie ftill and fleep, It grieves me fore to hear thee weep : If thou'lt be filent, I'll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full fad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, Thy father bred me great annoy. Balow, my boy, lie JIM and fleep, It grieves me fore to hear thee weep. 126 A COLLECTION Balow, my darling, ileep a while, And when thou wak'fl, then fweetly fmile ; But fmile not as thy father did, To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ; For in thine eye his look I fee, The tempting look that ruin'd me. Balow, my boy, &c. When he began to court my love, And with his fugar'd words to move, His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear, In time to me did not appear ; But now I fee that cruel he Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy, &c. Farewel, farewel, thou falfeft youth That ever kifs'd a woman's mouth ; Let never any after me Submit unto thy courtefy : For, if they do, O ! cruel thou Wilt her abufe, and care not how. Balow, my boy, &c. I was too cred'lous at the firft, To yield thee all a maiden durft ; Thou fwore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love ; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love's no more, thy promife nought. Balow, my boy, &c. I wifh I were a maid again, From young men's flattery I'd refrain ; For now, unto my grief, I find, They all are perjur'd and unkind : Bewitching charms bred all my harms, Witnefs my babe lies in my arms. Balow, my boy, &c. OF CHOICE SONGS. 127 I take my fate from bad to worfe, That I muft needs be now a nurfe, And lull my young fon on my lap ; From me, fweet orphan, take the pap. Balow, my child, thy mother mild Shall wail, as from all blifs exil'd. Balow, my boy, &c. Balow, my boy, weep not for me, Whofe greateft grief's for wronging thee, Nor pity her deferved fmart, Who can blame none but her fond heart ; For too foon trufting lateft finds, With faireft tongues are falfeft minds. Balow, my boy, &c. Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, When he the thriftlefs fon has play'd ; Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Preferr'd the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curfe and mine Make him eat acorns with the fwine. Balow, my boy, &c. But curfe not him ; perhaps now he, Stung with remorfe, is bleffing thee : Perhaps at death ; for who can tell Whether the judge of heaven or hell, By fome proud foe has ftruck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low. Balow, my boy, &c. I wifh I were into the bounds Where he lies fmother'd in his wounds, Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he call'd his fair. No woman's yet fo fiercely fet, But fhe'll forgive, though not forget. Baloiv, my boy, &c. 128 A COLLECTION If linen lacks, for my love's fake, Then quickly to him would I make My fmock once for his body meet, And wrap him in that winding-meet. Ah me ! how happy had I been, If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. Balow, my boy, &c. Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee ; Too foon, alake, thou'lt weep for me : Thy griefs are growing to a fum, God grant thee patience when they come ; Born to fuftain thy mother's fhame, A haplefs fate, a baftard's name. Balow, my boy, lie Jl ill andfleep, It grieves me fore to hear thee weep. X. SONG. She raife and loot me in. THE night her filent fable wore, And gloomy were the ikies ; Of glitt'ring ftars appear'd no more Than thofe in Nelly's eyes. When at her father's yate I knock'd, Where I had often been, She, fhrouded only with her fmock, Arofe and loot me in. Faft lock'd within her clofe embrace, She trembling flood afham'd ; Her fwelling breaft, and glowing face, And ev'ry touch inflam'd. My eager paffion I obey'd, Refolv'd the fort to win ; And her fond heart was foon betray'd To yield and let me in. OF CHOICE SONGS. 129 Then, then, beyond expreffing, Tranfporting was the joy ; I knew no greater bleffing, So blefs'd a man was I. And lhe, all ravifh'd with delight, Bid me oft come again ; And kindly vow'd, that ev'ry night She'd rile and let me in. But ah ! at laft lhe prov'd with bairn, And fighing fat and dull, And I that was as much concern'd, Look'd e'en juft like a fool. Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er, Repenting her rafh fin : She figh'd, and curft the fatal hour That e'er (he loot me in. But who cou'd cruelly deceive, Or from fuch beauty part ? I lov'd her fo, I could not leave The charmer of my heart ; But wedded, and conceal'd our crime : Thus all was well again, And now me thanks the happy time That e'er lhe loot me in. Z. SONG. If love's a fweet paffion. IF love's a fweet paffion, why does it torment 1 If a bitter, O tell me whence comes my complaint 1 Since I fuffer with pleafure, why mould I complain, Or grieve at my fate, fince I know 'tis in vain ? Yet fo pleafmg the pain is, fo foft is the dart, That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my heart. K 130 A COLLECTION I grafp her hands gently, look languishing down, And, by paffionate filence, I make my love known : But oh ! how I'm blefs'd when fo kind fhe does prove, By fome willing miftake to difcover her love ; When in flriving to hide, ihe reveals all her flame, And our eyes tell each other what neither dare name. How pleafing is beauty ! how fweet are the charms ! How delightful embraces ! how peaceful her arms ! Sure there is nothing fo eafy as learning to love ; 'Tis taught us on earth, and by all things above : And to beauty's bright ftandard all heroes muft yield, For 'tis beauty that conquers, and wins the fair field. X. John Ochiltree. IT ONEST man, John Ochiltree ; -*- •*■ Mine ain auld John Ochiltree, Wilt thou come o'er the moor to me, And dance as thou was wont to do ? A lake, alake ! I wont to do / Ohon, ohm / I wont to do / Now wont to do's away frae me, Frae filly auld John Ochiltree. Honed man, John Ochiltree ; Mine ain auld John Ochiltree : Come anes out o'er the moor to me, And do but what thou dow to do. Alake, alake / I dow to do I Walaways / / dow to do / To whojl and hirple o'er my tree, My bonny moor-powt, is a' I may do. Walaways ! John Ochiltree, For mony a time I tell'd to thee, OF CHOICE SONGS. 131 Thou rade fae fall by fea and land, And wadna keep a bridle hand, Thou'd tine the beaft, thy fell wad die, My filly auld John Ochiltree. Come to my arms, my bonny thing, And chear me up to hear theefing; And tell me o'er d we hoe done, For thoughts maim now my life fujlain. Gae thy ways, John Ochiltree : Hae done ! it has nae fa'r wi' me, I'll fet the beaft in throw the land. She'll maybe fa' in a better hand, Even fit thou there and drink thy fill, For I'll do as I wont to do Hill. Z. SONG. Tune — -Jenny beguiVd the webfler. The auld chorus. Up flairs, down flairs, Timber flairs fear me, I'm laith to ly a night my lane, And Johny' s bed 's fae near me. f~\ Mither dear, I 'gin to fear, ^-^ Though I'm baith good and bonny, I winna keep ; for in my fleep I ftart, and dream of Johny. When Johny then comes down the glen To woo me, dinna hinder ; But with content gi'e your confent, For we twa ne'er can finder. i 3 2 A COLLECTION Better to marry, than mifcarry ; For fhame and fkaith's the clink o't ; To thole the dool, to mount the flool, I downa bide to think o't ; Sae while it's time, I'll fhun the crime That gars poor Epps gae whinging, With haunches fow, and een fae blew, To a' the bedrals binging. Had Epp/s apron bidden down, The Kirk had ne'er a ken'd it ; But when the word's gane thro' the town, Alake, how can the mend it 1 Now Tam maun face the minifter, And (he maun mount the pillar : And that's the way that they maun gae, For poor folk has nae filler. Now had ye'r tongue, my daughter young, Replied the kindly mither, Get Johny's hand, in haly band, Syne wap your wealth togither. I'm o' the mind, if he be kind, Ye'll do your part difcreetly ; And prove a wife will gar his life And barrel run right fweetly. SONG. Tune — Wat ye ivha I met yejireen, &c. OF all the birds whofe tuneful throats Do welcome in the verdant fpring, I far prefer the Stirling's notes, And think (he does mod fweetly fing. OF CHOICE SONGS. 133 Nor thrufh, nor linnet, nor the bird Brought from the far Canary coaft, Nor can the nightingale afford, Such melody as me can boad. When Phoebus fouthward darts his fires, And on our plains he looks afkance, The nightingale with him retires, My Stirling makes my blood to dance. In fpite of Hyems' nipping froft, Whether the day be dark or clear, Shall I not to her health entoafl, Who makes it fummer all the year 1 Then by thyfelf, my lovely bird, I'll flroke thy back, and kifs thy bread ; And if you'll take my honed word, As facred as before the pried, I'll bring thee where I will devife Such various ways to pleafure thee, The velvet fog thou wilt defpife, When on the downy hills with me. T. R. SONG. To its own Tune. IN January lad, On Munanday at morn, As thro' the fields I pad, To view the winter corn, I looked me behind, And faw come o'er the know, And glancing in her apron, With a bonny brent brow. i 3 4 A COLLECTION I faid, Good-morrow, fair maid ; And fhe right court'oufly Return'd a beck, and kindly faid, Good-day, fweet Sir, to you. I fpear'd, My dear, how far awa Do ye intend to gae 1 Quoth fhe, I mean a mile or twa Out o'er yon broomy brae. HE. Fair maid, I'm thankfu' to my fate, To have fie company ; For I am ganging ftraight that gate, Where ye intend to be. When we had gane a mile or twain, I faid to her, My dow, May we not lean us on this plain, And kifs your bonny mou' 1 SHE. Kind Sir, ye are a wee miflane ; For I am nane of thefe, I hope ye fome mair breeding ken, Than to ruffle women's claife : For may be I have chofen ane, And plighted him my vow, Wha may do wi' me what he likes, And kifs my bonny mou'. HE. Na, if ye are contracted, I hae na mair to fay : Rather than be rejected, I will gi'e o'er the play ; And chufe anither will refpect My love and on me rew ; And let me clafp her round the neck, And kifs her bonny mou'. OF CHOICE SONGS. 135 SHE. O Sir, ye are proud-hearted, And laith to be faid nay, Elfe ye wad ne'er a flarted For ought that I did fay : For women in their modefty, At firft they winna bow ; But if we like your company, We'll prove as kind as you. SONG. Tune — Vll never leave thee. ONE day I heard Mary fay, How fhall I leave thee % Stay, deareft Adonis, ftay. Why wilt thou grieve me 1 Alas ! my fond heart will break, If thou fhould leave me. I'll live and die for thy fake : Yet never leave thee. Say, lovely Adonis, fay, Has Mary deceiv'd thee 1 Did e'er her young heart betray New love, that has griev'd thee ? My conftant mind ne'er fhall ftray, Thou may believe me. I'll love thee, lad, night and day, And never leave thee. Adonis, my charming youth, What can relieve thee 1 Can Mary thy anguifh footh ! This breaft fhall receive thee. 136 A COLLECTION My paffion can ne'er decay, Never deceive thee : Delight fhall drive pain away, Pleafure revive thee. But leave thee, leave thee, lad, How fhall I leave thee? O ! that thought makes me fad, I'll never leave thee. Where would my Adonis fly ? Why does he grieve me 1 Alas ! my poor heart will die, If I fhould leave thee. Sleepy Body, drowfy Body. ^OMNOLENTE, qucefo, repente *-) Vigila, vive, me tange. Somnolente, quafo, repente Vigila, vive, me tange. Cum me ambiebas, Videri folebas Amor is negotiis aptus ; At facltts maritus, In leflo fopitus, Somtio es, hand amore, tu captus. O fleepy body, And drowfy body, O wiltuna waken, and turn thee : To drivel and draunt, While I figh and gaunt, Gives me good reafon to fcorn thee. OF CHOICE SONGS. 137 When thou fhouldft be kind, Thou turns fleepy and blind, And fnoters and fnores far frae me. Wae light on thy face, Thy drowfy embrace Is enough to gar me betray thee. Q. General Lesly's March to Longmarfton Moor. MARCH, march, Why the d do ye na march ? Stand to your arms, my lads, Fight in good order, Front about, ye mufketeers all, Till ye come to the Englifh border : Stand till't, and fight like men, True gofpel to maintain, The parliament's blyth to fee us a' coming. When to the kirk we come, We'll purge it ilka room, Frae Popifh relics, and a' fie innovations, That a' the warld may fee, There's nane i' the right but we, Of the auld Scottifh nation. Jenny fhall wear the hood, Jocky the fark of God ; And the kift fou of whiftles, That make fie a cleiro, Our pipers braw, Shall hae them a', Whate'er come on it, Bufk up your plaids, my lads, Cock up your bonnets. March, march, &c. Z. 138 A COLLECTION SONG. Tune — F 11 gar ye he fain to follow me. HE. ADIEU, for a while, my native green plains, My nearefl relations, and neighbouring fwains, Dear Nelly, frae thefe I'd flart eafily free, Were minutes not ages, while abfent frae thee. SHE. Then tell me the reafon thou does not obey The pleadings of love, but thus hurries away ; Alake, thou deceiver, o'er plainly I fee, A lover fae roving will never mind me. HE. The reafon unhappy, is owing to fate That gave me a being without an eflate, Which lays a neceffity now upon me, To purchafe a fortune for pleafure to thee. SHE. Small fortune may ferve where love has the fway, Then, Johny, be counfell'd na langer to ftray ; For while thou proves conftant in kindnefs to me, Contented I'll ay find a treafure in thee. HE. O ceafe, my dear charmer, elfe foon I'll betray A weaknefs unmanly, and quickly give way To fondnefs which may prove a ruin to thee, A pain to us baith, and difhonour to me. Bear witnefs, ye ftreams, and witnefs, ye flowers : Bear witnefs, ye watchful invifible powers, If ever my heart be unfaithful to thee, May naithing propitious e'er fmile upon me. B OF CHOICE SONGS. 139 SONG. To the tune of USK ye, bujk ye, my bonny bride; Bujk ye, bujk ye, my bonny marrow ; Bujk ye, bujk ye, my bonny bride, Bujk and go to the braes of Yarrow ; There will we fport and gather dew, Dancing while laverocks ling the morning ; There learn frae turtles to prove true ; O Bell ! ne'er vex me with thy fcorning. To wefllin breezes Flora yields, And when the beams are kindly warming, Blythnefs appears o'er all the fields, And nature looks mair freih and charming. Learn frae the burns that trace the mead, Tho' on their banks the rofes blofibm, Yet haftilie they flow to Tweed, And pour their fweetnefs in his bofom. Hafte ye, hafte ye, my bonny Bell, Hafte to my arms, and there I'll guard thee, With free confent my fears repel, I'll with my love and care reward thee. Thus fang I faftly to my fair, Who rais'd my hopes with kind relenting. O queen of fmiles, I afk na mair, Since now my bonny Bell's commenting. Corn-riggs are bonny. IV /TY Patie is a lover gay, ■»■*-'■ His mind is never muddy, His breath is fweeter than new hay, His face is fair and ruddy. 140 A COLLECTION His fhape is handfome, middle fize ; He's flately in his wawking ; The mining of his een surprife ; 'Tis heaven to hear him tawking. Laft night I met him on a bawk, Where yellow corn was growing, There mony a kindly word he fpake, That fet my heart a-glowing. He kifs'd, and vow'd he wad be mine, And loo'd me beft of ony ; That gars me like to fmg finfyne, O corn-riggs are bonny. Let maidens of a filly mind Refufe what maift they're wanting, Since we for yielding are defign'd, We chaftly mould be granting ; Then I'll comply and marry Pate, And fyne my cockernony He's free to touzle air or late, Where corn-riggs are bonny. Cromlet's Lilt. OINCE all thy vows, falfe maid, ^ Are blown to air, And my poor heart betray'd To fad defpair, Into fome wildernefs, My grief I will exprefs, And thy hard-heartednefs, O cruel air. Have I not graven our loves On every tree, In yonder fpreading groves, Tho' falfe thou be % OF CHOICE SONGS. 141 Was not a folemn oath Plighted betwixt us both, Thou thy faith, I my troth, Conftant to be 1 Some gloomy place I'll find, Some doleful fhade, Where neither fun nor wind E'er entrance had : Into that hollow cave, There will I figh and rave, Becaufe thou doft behave So faithleffly. Wild-fruit fhall be my meat, I'll drink the fpring, Cold earth fhall be my feat : For covering I'll have the ftarry iky My head to canopy, Until my foul on hy Shall fpread its wing. I'll have no funeral fire, Nor tears for me : , No grave do I defire, Nor obfequies : The courteous Red-breafl he With leaves will cover me, And fing my elegy With doleful voice. And when a ghoft I am, I'll vifit thee, O thou deceitful dame, Whofe cruelty Has kill'd the kindefl heart That e'er felt Cupid's dart, And never can defert From loving thee. X. 142 A COLLECTION SONG. We'll a' to Kelso go. A N I'll awa to bonny Tweediide, ■^"*- And fee my deary come throw, And he fall be mine, Gif fae he incline, For I hate to lead apes below. While young and fair I'll make it my care, To fecure myfelf in a jo ; I'm no fie a fool To let my blood cool, And fyne gae lead apes below. Few words, bonny lad, Will eithly perfuade, Tho' blufhing, I daftly fay, no, Gae on with your ftrain, And doubt not to gain, For I hate to lead apes below. Unty'd to a man, Do what'er we can, We never can thrive or dow : Then I will do well, Do better what will, And let them lead apes below. Our time is precious, And gods are gracious That beauties upon us beftow ; 'Tis not to be thought We got them for nought, Or to be fet up for a fhow. OF CHOICE SONGS. 143 'Tis carried by votes, Come kilt up your coats, And let us to Edinburgh go, Where (he that's bonny May catch a Johny, And never lead apes below. William and Margaret. An old ballad. 'HPWAS at the fearful midnight hour, J- When all were fafl afleep, In glided Margaret's grimly ghoft, And flood at William's feet. Her face was pale like April morn ; Clad in a wintry cloud ; And clay-cold was her lily-hand That held her fable fhroud. So fhall the faireft face appear, When youth and years are flown ; Such is the robe that kings muft wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the fpringing flow'r, That fips the filver dew ; The rofe was budded in her cheek, Juft op'ning to the view. But love had, like the canker-worm, Confum'd her early prime : The rofe grew pale, and left her cheek ; She dy'd before her time. i 4 4 A COLLECTION Awake ! — flie cry'd, thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave : Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refus'd to fave. This is the dumb and dreary hour, When injur'd ghofts complain, And aid the fecret fears of night, To fright the faithlefs man. Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath, And give me back my maiden-vow, And give me back my troth. How could you fay my face was fair, And yet that face forfake 1 How could you win that virgin-heart, Yet leave that heart to break ? Why did you promife love to me, And not that promife keep 1 Why faid you, that my eyes were bright, Yet left thefe eyes to weep 1 How could you fwear my lip was fweet, And made the fcarlet pale 1 And why did I, young witlefs maid, Believe the flatt'ring tale 1 That face, alas ! no more is fair ; Thefe lips no longer red ; Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, And ev'ry charm is fled. The hungry worm my fifter is ; This winding-meet I wear : And cold and weary lafls our night, Till that laft morn appear. OF CHOICE SONGS. 145 But hark ! — the cock has warn'cl me hence — A long and late adieu ! Come fee, falfe man, how low fhe lies That dy'd for love of you. The lark fung out, the morning fmil'd, And rais'd her glifl'ring head ; Pale William quak'd in ev'ry limb ; Then, raving, left his bed. He hy'd him to the fatal place Where Margaret's body lay, And flretch'd him o'er the green grafs turf That wrapt her breathlefs clay. And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, And thrice he wept full fore : Then laid his cheek on her cold grave, And word fpoke never more. D. M. The Complaint. THE fun was funk beneath the hill, The weltern cloud was lin'd with gold Clear was the iky, the wind was flill, The flocks were penn'd within the fold : When in the filence of the grove, Poor Damon thus defpair'd of love. Who feeks to pluck the fragrant rofe, From the hard rock or oozy beach ; Who from each weed that barren grows, Expects the grape or downy peach ; With equal faith may hope to find The truth of love in womankind. 146 A COLLECTION No flocks have I, or fleecy care, No fields that wave with golden grain, No paflures green, or gardens fair, A woman's venal heart to gain. Then all in vain my fighs muft prove, Whofe whole eftate, alas ! is love. How wretched is the faithful youth, Since women's hearts are bought and fold ! They afk no vows of facred truth ; Whene'er they figh, they figh to gold. Gold can the frowns of fcorn remove ; — Thus I am fcorn'd, — who have but love. To buy the gems of India's coaft, What wealth, what riches would fuffice 1 Yet India's fhore fhould never boaft The luftre of thy rival eyes ; For there the world too cheap muft prove ; Can I then buy — who have but love 1 Then, Mary, fince nor gems nor ore Can with thy brighter felf compare, Be juft, as fair, and value more Than gems or ore, a heart fincere : Let treafure meaner beauties prove ; Who pays thy worth, muft pay in love. X. SONG. Tune — Montrofe's lines. I TOSS and tumble through the night, And wifh th' approaching day, Thinking when darknefs yields to light, I'll banifh care away : OF CHOICE SONGS. 147 But when the glorious fun doth rife, And chear all nature round, All thoughts of pleafure in me dies ; My cares do ftill abound. My tortur'd and uneafy mind Bereaves me of my reft ; My thoughts are to all pleafure blind, With care I'm ftill oppreft : But had I her within my breaft, Who gives me fo much pain, My raptur'd foul would be at reft, And fofteft joys regain. I'd not envy the god of war, Blefs'd with fair Venus' charms, Nor yet the thund'ring Jupiter In fair Alcmena's arms : Paris, with Helen's beauty blefs'd, Wou'd be a jeft to me ; If of her charms I were poffefs'd, Thrice happier wou'd I be. But fmce the gods do not ordain Such happy fate for me, I dare not 'gainft their will repine, Who rule my deftiny. With fprightly wine I'll drown my care, And cherifh up my foul ; Whene'er I think on my loft fair, I'll drown her in the bowl. I. H, Jamaica. The Deceiver. "\ ~\ 7"ITH tuneful pipe and hearty glee, ' * Young Watty wan my heart ; A blyther lad ye cou'dna fee, All beauty without art. 148 A COLLECTION His winning tale Did foon prevail To gain my fond belief; But foon the fvvain Gangs o'er the plain, And leaves me full, and leaves me full, And leaves me full of grief. Tho' Colin courts with tuneful fang, Yet few regard his mane : The laffes a' round Watty thrang, While Colin's left alane : In Aberdeen Was never feen A lad that gave fie pain. He daily wooes, And ftill purfues, Till he does all, till he does all, Till he does all obtain. But foon as he has gain'd the blifs, Away then does he run, And hardly will afford a kifs To filly me undone : Bonny Katy, Maggy, Beatty, Avoid the roving fwain ; His wily tongue Be fure to fhun, Or you like me, or you like me, Like me will be undone. •¥ OF CHOICE SONGS. 149 Sweet Susan. Tune — Leader-haughs, 1. HP HE morn was fair, faft was the air, ■*■ All nature's fweets were fpringing ; The buds did bow with filver dew, Ten thoufand birds were finging : When on the bent, with blyth content, Young Jamie fang his marrow, Nae bonnier lafs e'er trod the grafs, On Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 11. How fweet her face, where ev'ry grace In heav'nly beauty's planted ; Her fmiling een, and comely mien That nae perfection wanted. I'll never fret, nor ban my fate, But blefs my bonny marrow ; If her dear fmile my doubts beguile, My mind fhall ken nae forrow. in. Yet tho' fhe's fair, and has full (hare Of every charm inchanting, Each good turns ill, and foon will kill Poor me, if love be wanting. O bonny lafs ! have but the grace To think, ere ye gae furder, Your joys maun flit, if ye commit The crying fin of murder. IV. My wand'ring ghaift will ne'er get reft, And night and day affright ye ; But if ye're kind, with joyful mind, I'll ftudy to delight ye. 150 A COLLECTION Our years around with love thus crown'd, From all things joy fhall borrow ; Thus none fhall be more blefs'd than we On Leader-haughs and Yarrow. v. O fweeteft Sue ! 'tis only you Can make life worth my wifhes, If equal love your mind can move To grant this beft of bliffes. Thou art my fun, and thy leaft frown Would blafl me in the blolTom : But if thou fhine, and make me thine, I'll flourifh in thy bofom. Cowdon- Knows. "\ 1 THEN fummer comes, the fwains on Tweed * * Sing their fuccefsful loves, Around the ewes and lambkins feed, And mufic fills the groves. But my lov'd fong is then the broom So fair on Cowdon-knows ; For fure fo fweet, fo foft a bloom Elfewhere there never grows. There Colin tun'd his oaten reed, And won my yielding heart ; No (hepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed Could play with half fuch art. He fung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde, The hills and dales all round, Of Leader-haughs, and Leader-fide, Oh ! how I blefs'd the found. OF CHOICE SONGS. 151 Yet more delightful is the broom So fair on Cowdon-knows ; For fure fo frefh, fo bright a bloom Elfewhere there never grows. Not Teviot braes fo green and gay- May with this broom compare, Not Yarrow banks in flow'ry May, Nor the bufh aboon Traquair. More pleafmg far are Cowdon-knows, My peaceful happy home, Where I was wont to milk my ewes At even among the broom. Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains Where Tweed with Teviot flows, Convey me to the beft of fwains, And my lov'd Cowdon-knows. C. ^^*-C4H£*-c*-€*-^*^*-€-^*^-*;^*^-^i^*>*^*:^*> Sandy and Betty. SANDY in Edinburgh was born, As blyth a lad as e'er gade thence Betty did Staffordihire adorn With all that's lovely to the fenfe. Had Sandy ftill remain'd at hame, He had not blinkt on Betty's fmile ; For why, he caught the gentle flame On this fide Tweed full many a mile. She, like the fragrant violet, Still flourifh'd in her native mead : He, like the ftream, improving yet The further from his fountain-head. 152 A COLLECTION The ftream muft now no further ftray ; A fountain fix'd by Venus' power In his clear bofom, to difplay The beauties of his bord'ring flower. When gracious Anna did unite Two jarring nations into one, She bade them mutually unite, And make each other's good their own. Henceforth let each returning year The rofe and thiftle bear one ftem : The thiftle be the rofe's fpear, The rofe the thiftle 's diadem. The queen of Britain's high decree, The queen of love is bound to keep ; Anna, the fovereign of the fea, Venus, the daughter of the deep. W. B. ODE. To Mrs. A. R. Tune — Love's goddefs in a myrtle grove. [OW fpring begins her fmiling round, N ( And lavifh paints th' enamell'd ground ; The birds now lift their chearful voice, And gay on every bough rejoice : The lovely graces hand in hand Knit faft in love's eternal band, With early ftep, at morning-dawn, Tread lightly o'er the dewy lawn. Where'er the youthful fifters move, They fire the foul to genial love : Now, by the river's painted fide, The fwain delights his country-bride ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 153 While pleas'd, fhe hears his artlefs vows, Each bird his feather'd confort wooes : Soon will the ripen'd fummer yield Her various gifts to every field. The fertile trees, a lovely fhow ! With ruby-tin<5lur'd birth fhall glow ; Sweet fmells, from beds of lilies born, Perfume the breezes of the morn : The fmiling day and dewy night To rural fcenes my fair invite ; With fummer fweets to feafl her eye, Yet foon, foon, will the fummer fly. Attend, my lovely maid, and know To profit by th' inftruclive fhow. Now young and blooming thou appears, All in the flourifh of thy years : The lovely bud fhall foon difclofe To every eye the blufhing rofe ; Now, now the tender ftalk is feen With beauty frefh, and ever green. But when the funny hours are pail, Think not the coz'ning fcene will laft ; Let not the flatt'rer hope perfuade, Ah ! muft I fay, that it will fade ? For fee the fummer flies away, Sad emblem of our own decay ! Now winter from the frozen north Drives fwift his iron chariot forth. His grizly hands in icy chains Fair Tweda's filver ftream conftrains. Caft up thy eyes, how bleak and bare He wanders on the tops of Yare ; Behold his footfteps dire are feen Confefs'd o'er ev'ry with'ring green ; Griev'd at the fight, when thou fhalt fee A fnowy wreath to clothe each tree. i54 A COLLECTION Frequenting now the ftream no more, Thou flies, difpleas'd, the frozen more, When thou fhalt mifs the flowers that grew But late, to charm thy ravifh'd view ; Then fhall a figh thy foul invade, And o'er thy pleafures caft a fhade : Shall I, ah ! horrid ! wilt thou fay, Be like to this fome other day? Yet when in fnow and dreary froft The pleafure of the fields is loft, To blazing hearths at home we run, And fires fupply the diftant fun ; In gay delights our hours employ, And do not lofe, but change our joy. Happy ! abandon every care, • To lead the dance, to court the fair. To turn the page of facred bards, To drain the bowl, and deal the cards. In cities thus, with witty friends, In fmiles the hoary feafon ends. But when the lovely white and red From the pale afhy cheek is fled, Then wrinkles dire, and age fevere, Make beauty fly, Ave know not where. The fair, whom fates unkind difarm, Ah ! muft they never ceafe to charm ? Or is there left fome pleafing art To keep fecure a captive heart 1 Unhappy love ! may lovers fay, Beauty, thy food, does fwift decay ; When once that fhort-liv'd flock is fpent, What is't thy famine can prevent 1 Lay in good fenfe with timeous care, That love may live on wifdom's fare : Though ecjlafy with beauty flies, EJleem is born when beauty dies. OF CHOICE SON GS. 155 Happy the man whom fates decree Their richeft gift in giving thee ; Thy beauty (hall his youth engage, Thy wifdom fhall delight his age. Horace, Book I. Ode II. To W. D. Tune — Willy was a wanton wag. WILLY, ne'er enquire what end The gods for thee or me intend ; How vain the fearch, that but bellows The knowledge of our future woes ! Happier the man that ne'er repines, Whatever lot his fate affigns, Than they that idly vex their lives With wizards and inchanting wives. Thy prefent years in mirth employ, And confecrate thy youth to joy ; Whether the fates to thy old fcore Shall bounteous add a winter more, Or this fhall lay thee cold in earth That rages o'er the Pentland firth, No more with Home the dance to lead ; Take my advice, ne'er vex thy head. With blyth intent the goblet pour, That's facred to the genial hour, In flowing wine ftill warm thy foul, And have no thoughts beyond the bowl. Behold, the flying hour is loft, For time rides ever on the poft, Even while we fpeak, even while we think, And waits not for the (landing drink. 156 A COLLECTION Collect thy joys each prefent day, And live in youth, while beft you may ; Have all your pleafures at command, Nor trufl one day in fortune's hand. Then, Willy, be a wanton wag, If ye wad pleafe the laffes braw, At bridals then ye'll bear the brag, And carry ay the gree awa\ The Widow. pHE widow can bake, and the widow can brew, - 1 - The widow can lhape, and the widow can few, And mony braw things the widow can do ; Then have at the widow, my laddie. With courage attack her baith early and late, To kifs her and clap her, you manna be blate, Speak well, and do better, for that's the beft gate To win a young widow, my laddie. The widow fhe's youthfu', and never ae hair The war of the wearing, and has a good fkair Of everything lovely ; fhe's witty and fair, And has a rich jointure, my laddie. What cou'd you wifh better your pleafure to crown, Than a widow, the bonnieft toaft in the town, With naething, but draw in your ftool and fit down, And fport with the widow, my laddie 1 Then till'er, and kill'er with courtefy dead, Tho' ftark love and kindnefs be all ye can plead ; Be heartfome and airy, and hope to fucceed With a bonny gay widow, my laddie. Strike iron while it's het, if ye'd have it to wald, For fortune ay favours the active and bauld, But ruins the wooer that's thowlefs and cauld, Unfit for the widow, my laddie. OF CHOICE SONGS. 157 The Highland Lassie. THE lawland maids gang trig and fine, But aft they'r four and unco faucy ; Sae proud, they never can be kind, Like my good-humour'd highland laffie. O my bonny, bonny highland laffie, My hearty fmiling highland laffie, May never care make thee lefs fair, But bloom of youth flill blefs my laffie. Than ony lafs in borrows town, Wha mak their cheeks with patches mottie, I'd tak my Katy but a gown, Bare-footed in her little coatie. O my bonny, &c. Beneath the brier or brecken bufh, Whene'er I kifs and court my dautie, Happy and blyth as ane wad wifh, My flightern heart gangs pittie-pattie. O my bonnie, &c. O'er higheft heathery hills I'll ftenn With cockit gun and ratches tenty, To drive the deer out of their den, To feaft my lafs on dimes dainty. O my bonny, &c. There's nane fhall dare by deed or word 'Gainft her to wag a tongue or finger, While I can wield my trufty fword, Or frae my fide whifk out a whinger. O my bonny, &c. The mountains clad with purple bloom And berries ripe, invite my treafure To range with me, let great folk gloom, While wealth and pride confound their pleafure. 158 A COLLECTION O my bonny, bonny highland laffie, My lovely fmiling highland laffte, May never care make thee lefs fair, But bloom of youth flill blefs my laffie. Jocky blyth and gay. TDLYTH Jocky young and gay, •L' Is all my heart's delight ; He's all my talk by day, And all my dreams by night. If from the lad I be, 'Tis winter then with me ; But when he tarries here, 'Tis fummer all the year. When I and Jocky met Firft on the flow'ry dale, Right fweetly he me treat, And love was all his tale. You are the lafs, faid he, That flaw my heart frae me ; O eafe me of my pain, And never fhaw difdain. Well can my Jocky kyth His love and courtefie, He made my heart full blyth When he firft fpake to me. His fuit I ill deny'd, He kifs'd, and I comply'd : Sae Jocky promis'd me, That he wad faithful be. I'm glad when Jocky comes, Sad when he gangs away ; 'Tis night when Jocky glooms, But when he fmiles 'tis day. OF CHOICE SONGS. 159 When our eyes meet, I pant, I colour, figh, and faint ; What lafs that wad be kind, Can better tell her mind 1 Q. Had away from me Donald. OCOME away, come away, Come away wi' me, Jenny ; Sic frowns I canna bear frae ane Whafe fmiles anes ravifh'd me, Jenny ; If you'll be kind, you'll never find That ought fall alter me, Jenny ; For your the miftrefs of my mind, Whate'er you think of me, Jenny. Firft when your fweets enflav'd my heart, You feem'd to favour me, Jenny ; But now, alas ! you act a part That fpeaks unconftancy, Jenny; Unconftancy is fie a vice, 'Tis not befitting thee, Jenny ; It fuits not with your virtue nice To carry fae to me, Jenny. Her Answer. OHAD away, had away, Had away frae me, Donald ; Your heart is made o'er large for ane, It is not meet for me, Donald : Some fickle miftrefs you may find Will jilt as faft as thee, Donald ; To ilka fwain (he will prove kind, And nae lefs kind to thee, Donald. 160 A COLLECTION But I've a heart that's naething fuch, Tis fill'd with honefty, Donald, I'll ne'er love money, I'll love much, I hate all levity, Donald. Therefore nae mair, with art, pretend Your heart is chain'd to mine, Donald ; For words of falfhood ill defend A roving love like thine, Donald. Firft when you courted, I muft own I frankly favour'd you, Donald ; Apparent worth and fair renown Made me believe you true, Donald. Ilk virtue then feem'd to adorn The man efteem'd by me, Donald ; But now, the mafk fall'n aff, I fcorn To ware a thought on thee, Donald. And now, for ever, had away, Had away from me, Donald ; Gae feek a heart that's like your ain, And come nae mair to me, Donald ; For I'll referve myfell for ane, For ane that's liker me, Donald ; If fie a ane I canna find, I'll ne'er loo man, nor thee, Donald. Donald. Then I'm thy man, and falfe report Has only tald a lie, Jenny; To try thy truth, and make us fport, The tale was rais'd by me, Jenny. Jenny. When this ye prove, and ftill can love, Then come away to me, Donald ; I'm well content, ne'er to repent That I have fmil'd on thee, Donald. OF CHOICE SONGS. 161 Todlen butt, and todlen ben. A 1 7"HEN I've a faxpence under my thumb, * V Then I'll get credit in ilka town : But ay when I'm poor they bid me gang by ; O ! poverty parts good company. Todlen hame, todlen hame, Cou'dna my loove come todlen hame ? Fair fa' the goodwife, and fend her good fale, She gies us white bannocks to drink her ale, Syne if that her tippony chance to be fma', We'll tak a good fcour o't, and ca't awa\ Todlen hame, todle?i hame, As round as a neep come todlen hame. My kimmer and I lay down to fleep, And twa pint-floups at our bed's feet ; And ay when we waken'd, we drank them dry : What think ye of my wee kimmer and 1 1 Todlen butt, and todlen ben, Sae round as my loove comes todlen hame. Leez me on liquor, my todlen dow, Ye're ay fae good-humour'd when weeting your mou ; When fober, fae four, ye'll fight with a flee, That 'tis a blyth fight to the bairns and me, When todlen hame, todlen hame, When round as a neep you come todlen hame. Z. 0606 ©306©ooee©©9Q9oeoeoe©30©G^ The auld Man's belt Argument. Tune — Widow, are ye wawkin ? WHA's that at my chamber door ? O " Fair widow, are ye wawkin?" Auld carl, your fuit give o'er, Your love lies a' in tawking. M 162 A COLLECTION Gi'e me a lad that's young and tight, Sweet like an April meadow ; 'Tis fie as he can blefs the fight And bofom of a widow. " O widow, wilt thou let me in, I'm pawky, wife, and thrifty, And come of a right gentle kin, I'm little mair than fifty." Daft carl dit your mouth, What fignifies how pawky, Or gentle born ye be, — bot youth 1 In love you're but a gawky. " Then, widow, let thefe guineas fpeak, That powerfully plead clinkan, And if they fail, my mouth I'll ileek, And nae mair love will think on." Thefe court indeed, I maun confefs, I think they make you young, Sir, And ten times better can exprefs Affection, than your tongue, Sir. The peremptor Lover. Txxne—Jb/tn Anderfon, my jo. '''"PIS not your beauty, nor your wit, J- That can my heart obtain ; For they cou'd never conquer yet, Either my breaft or brain : For if you'll not prove kind to me, And true as heretofore, Henceforth I'll fcorn your flave to be, Or doat upon you more. OF CHOICE SONGS. 163 Think not my fancy to o'ercome, By proving thus unkind ; No fmoothed fight, nor fmiling frown, Can fatisfy my mind. Pray let Platonicks play fuch pranks, Such follies I deride ; For love, at lead, I will have thanks, And fomething elfe befide. Then open-hearted be with me, As I fliall be with you, And let our actions be as free As virtue will allow.. If you'll prove loving, I'll prove kind, If true, I'll conflant be ; If fortune chance to change your mind, I'll turn as foon as you. Since our affections well ye know, In equal terms do iland, 'Tis in your power to love or no, Mine's likewife in my hand. Difpenfe with your aufterity, Unconftancy abhor, Or, by great Cupid's deity, I'll never love you more. Q. What's that to you ? Tune — The glancing of her apron. 1\ /TY Jeany and I have toil'd IV J. 'phg }j ve j an g fummer-day, Till we almoft were fpoil'd At making of the hay : 164 A COLLECTION Her kurchy was of holland clear, Ty'd on her bonny brow, I whifper'd fomething in her ear ; But what's that to you 1 Her (lockings were of Kerfey green, As tight as ony filk : O fie a leg was never feen, Her fkin was white as milk : Her hair was black as ane could wifh, And fweet, fweet was her mou, Oh ! Jeany daintily can kifs ; But what's that to you 1 The rofe and lily baith combine To make my Jeany fair, There is nae bennifon like mine, I have amaift nae care ; Only I fear my Jeany's face May caufe mae men to rue, And that may gar me fay, alas ! But what's that to you 1 Conceal thy beauties if thou can, Hide that fweet face of thine, That I may only be the man Enjoys thefe looks divine. O do not proftitute, my dear, Wonders to common view, And I with faithful heart fhall fwear, For ever to be true. King Solomon had wives enow, And mony a concubine ; But I enjoy a blifs mair true, His joys were fhort of mine ; And Jeany's happier than they, She feldom wants her due ; All debts of love to her I pay, And what's that to you ? OF CHOICE SONGS. 165 SONG. To the abfent Florinda. Tune — Queen of Sheba's March. COME, Florinda, lovely charmer, Come and fix this wav'ring heart ; Let thofe eyes my foul rekindle, Ere I feel fome foreign dart. Come, and with thy fmiles fecure me, If this heart be worth thy care, Favour'd by my dear Florinda, I'll be true, as fhe is fair. Thoufand beauties trip around me, And my yielding breaft affail ; Come and take me to thy bofom, Ere my conftant paffion fail. Come, and like the radiant morning, On my foul ferenely fhine, Then thofe glimmering ftars (hall vanifh, Loft in fplendour more divine. Long this heart has been thy victim, Long has felt the pleafing pain, Come, and with an equal paffion Make it ever thine remain. Then, my charmer, I can promife, If our fouls in love agree, None in all the upper dwellings Shall be happier than we. ¥ 166 A COLLECTION A Bacchanal Song. Tune — Aidd Sir Symon the King. COME here's to the nymph that I love ! Away, ye vain forrows, away : Far, far from me, forrows, begone, All there mall be pleafant and gay. Far hence be the fad and the penfive, Come fill up the glaffes around, We'll drink till our faces be ruddy, And all our vain forrows are drown'd. 'Tis done, and my fancy's exulting, With every gay blooming defire, My blood with brifk ardour is glowing, Soft pleafures my bofom infpire. My foul now to love is diffolving, Oh fate ! had I here my fair charmer, I'd clafp her, I'd clafp her fo eager, Of all her difdain I'd difarm her. But hold, what has love to do here, With his troops of vain cares in array 1 Avaunt, idle penfive intruder, — He triumphs, he will not away. I'll drown him, come, give me a bumper ; Young Cupid, here's to thy confufion. — Now, now he's departing, he's vanquifh'd, Adieu to his anxious delufion. Come, jolly god Bacchus, here's to thee ; Huzza boys, huzza boys, huzza ; Sing Io, fing Io to Bacchus — Hence all ye dull thinkers, withdraw. OF CHOICE SONGS. 167 Come, what mould we do but be jovial 1 Come tune up your voices and fing ; What foul is fo dull to be heavy, When wine fets our fancies on wing ? Come, Pegafus lies in this bottle, He'll mount us, he'll mount us on high, Each of us a gallant young Perfeus, Sublime we'll afcend to the fky. Come mount, or adieu, I arife, In feas of wide asther I'm drown'd ; The clouds far beneath me are failing, I fee the fpheres whirling around. What darknefs, what rattling is this 1 Thro' Chaos' dark regions I'm hurl'd, And now, — oh my head it is knock'd Upon fome confounded new world. Now, now thefe dark fhades are retiring, See yonder bright blazes a ftar ; Where am I ! — behold the Empyreum, With flaming light ftreaming from far. I. W. Q. SONG. To Mrs. A. C. Tune — All in the Downs. WHEN beauty blazes heavenly bright, The mufe can no more ceafe to fing Than can the lark, with rifing light, Her notes neglect with drooping wing. The morning fhines, harmonious birds mount high : The dawning beauty fmiles, and poets fly. 168 A COLLECTION Young Annie's budding graces claim Th' infpired thought, and foftefl lays ; And kindle in the breafl a flame, Which mud be vented in her praife. Tell us, ye gentle fhepherds, have you feen E'er one fo like an angel tread the green % Ye youth, be watchful of your hearts ; ' When fhe appears, take the alarm : Love on her beauty points his darts, And wings an arrow from each charm. Around her eyes and fmiles the graces fport, And to her fnowy neck and breaft refort. But vain muft every caution prove : When fuch inchanting fweetnefs mines, The wounded fwain muft yield to love, And wonder, tho' he hopelefs pines. Such flames the foppifh butterfly fhou'd fhun ; The eagle's only fit to view the fun. She's as the op'ning lily fair ; Her lovely features are complete ; Whilft heaven indulgent makes her fhare With angels all that's wife and fweet. Thefe virtues which divinely deck her mind, Exalt each other of th' inferior kind. Whether fhe love the rural fcenes, Or fparkle in the airy town, O ! happy he her favour gains, Unhappy ! if fhe on him frown. The mufe unwilling quits the lovely theme, Adieu fhe fings, and thrice repeats her name. *H»-*-<4» OF CHOICE SONGS. 169 A Paftoral Song. Tune — My apron, deary. Jamie. WHILE our flocks are a-feeding, And we're void of care, Come, Sandy, let's tune To praife of the fair : For, infpir'd by my Sufie, I'll fing in fuch lays, That Pan, were he judge, Mull allow me the bays. Sandy. While under this hawthorn We ly at our eafe, By a mufical ftream, And refrefh'd by the breeze Of a zephyr fo gentle, Yes, Jamie, I'll try For to match you and Sufie, Dear Katie and I. Jamie. Oh ! my Sufie fo lovely, She's without compare, She's fo comely, fo good, And fo charmingly fair : Sure, the gods were at pains To make fo complete A nymph, that for love There was ne'er one fo meet. Sandy. Oh my Katie's fo bright, She's fo witty and gay ; Love, join'd with the graces, Around her looks play. 170 A COLLECTION In her mien file's fo graceful, In her humour fo free : Sure the gods never fram'd A maid fairer than fhe. Jamie. Had my Sufie been there, When the fhepherd declared For the lady of Lemnos, She had loft his regard : And o'ercome by a prefence More beauteoufly bright, He had own'd her outdone, As the darknefs by light. Sandy. Not fair Helen of Greece, Nor all the whole train, Either of real beauties, Or thofe poets feign, Cou'd be match'd with my Katie, Whofe ev'ry fweet charm May conquer beft judges, And coldeft hearts warm. Jamie. Neither riches nor honour, Or any thing great, Do I afk of the gods, But that this be my fate, That my Sufie to all My kind wifhes comply : For with her wou'd I live, And with her I wou'd die. Sandy. If the fates give me Katie, And her I enjoy, OF CHOICE SONGS. 171 I have all my defires ; Nought can me annoy : For my charmer has ev'ry Delight in fuch ftore, She'll make me more happy Than fwain e'er before. Love will find out the way. OVER the mountains, And over the waves, Over the fountains, And under the graves : Over the floods that are deepefl, Which do Neptune obey ; Over rocks that are fteepeft, Love will find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to ly ; Where there is no fpace For the receipt of a fly ; Where the midge dare not venture, Left herfelf faft fhe lay : But if love come, he will enter, And foon find out his way. You may efteem him A child in his force ; Or you may deem him A coward, which is worfe : But if fhe, whom love doth honour, Be conceal'd from the day, Set a thoufand guards upon her, Love will find out the way. 172 A COLLECTION Some think to lofe him, Which is too unkind ; And fome do fuppofe him, Poor thing, to be blind ; But if ne'er fo clofe ye wall him, Do the bed that ye may, Blind love, if fo ye call him, He will find out the way. You may train the eagle To ftoop to your fift ; Or you may inveigle The Phoenix of the eaft ; The lionefs, ye may move her To give o'er her prey : But you'll never flop a lover, He will find out his way. SONG. Tune — Throw the wood, laddie. A S early I walk'd, on the firil of fweet May, •L*~ Beneath a fteep mountain, Befide a clear fountain, I heard a grave lute foft melody play, Whilft the echo refounded the dolorous lay. I liften'd, and look'd, and fpy'd a young fwain, With afpedl diftreffed, And fpirits oppreffed, Seem'd clearing afrefh, like the fky after rain, And thus he difcover'd how he ftrave with his pain. Tho' Elifa be coy, why fhou'd I repine, That a maid much above me, Vouchfafes not to love me? In her high fphere of worth I never could fhine ; Then why fhould I feek to debafe her to mine 1 OF CHOICE SONGS. 173 No : henceforth efteem fhall govern my defire, And, in due subjection, Retain warm affection ; To fhew that felf-love inflames not my fire, And that no other fwain can more humbly admire. When paffion fhall ceafe to rage in my breaft, Then quiet returning, Shall hufh my fad mourning ; And, lord of myfelf, in abfolute reft, I'll hug the condition which heav'n fhall think beft. Thus friendfhip unmix' d, and wholly refin'd, May ftill be refpected, Tho' love is rejected : Elifa fhall own, tho' to love not inclin'd, That fhe ne'er had a friend like her lover refign'd. May the fortunate youth who hereafter fhall woo With profp'rous endeavour, And gain her dear favour, Know, as well as I, what t' Elifa is due, Be much more deferving, but never lefs true. Whilft I, difengag'd from all amorous cares, Sweet liberty tafting, On calmeft peace feafting, Employing my reafon to dry up my tears, In hopes of heav'n's bliffes I'll fpend my few years. Ye pow'rs, that prefide o'er virtuous love, Come aid me with patience, To bear my vexations ; With equal defires my flutt'ring heart move, With fentiments pureft my notions improve. If love in his fetters e'er catch me again, May courage protect me, And prudence direct me ; Prepar'd for all fates, rememb'ring the fwain, Who grew happily wife, after loving in vain. 174 A COLLECTION Rob's Jock. A very auld Ballat. "D OB'S Jock came to woo our Jenny, A ^ On ae feaft-day when we were fou ; She brankit fall and made her bonny, And faid, Jock, come ye here to woo ? She burnifl her baith breaft and brou, And made her clear as ony cloak : Then fpake her dame, and faid, I trou Ye come to woo our Jenny, Jock. Jock faid, Forfuith, I yern fu' fain To luk my head, and fit down by you : Then fpak her minny, and faid again, My bairn has tocher enough to gi'e you. Tehie ! quo' Jenny, kick, kick, I fee you : Minny, yon man makes but a mock. Deil hae the liers — fu lies me o' you, I come to woo your Jenny, quo' Jock. — My bairn has tocher of her awin : A gufe, a gryce, a cock and hen, A ftirk, a ftaig, an acre fawin, A bakbread and a bannock-ftane ; A pig, a pot, and a kirn there-ben, A kame but a kaming-ftock ; With coags and luggies nine or ten : Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock ? A wecht, a peat-creel, and a cradle, A pair of clips, a graip, a flail, An ark, an ambray, and a ladle, A milfie, and a fowen-pail, A roufly whittle to fhear the kail, And a timber mell the bear to knock, Twa fhelfs made of an auld fir dale : Come ye to woo our Jenny, Jock 1 OF CHOICE SONGS. 175 A furm, a furlet, and a peck, A rock, a reel, and a wheel-band, A tub, a barrow, and a feck, A fpurtil-braid, and an elwand. Then Jock took Jenny be the hand, And cry'd a feaft ! and flew a cock, And made a bridle upo' land, Now I have got your Jenny, quo' Jock. Now dame I have your daughter marri'd, And tho' ye mak it ne'er fae tough, I let you wit flie's nae mifcarried, It's we'll kend I have gear enough : Ane auld gaw'd gloyd fell o'er a heugh, A fpade, a fpit, a fpur, a fock ; Withouten owfen I have a plough : May that no fer your Jenny 1 quo' Jock. A treen truncher, a ram-horn fpoon, Twa buits of barkit, blafmt leather, A graith that ganes to coble fhoon, And a thrawcruik to twyne a teather, Twa crocks that moup amang the heather, A pair of branks, and a fetter lock, A teugh purfe made of a fwine's blather, To had your tocher, Jenny, quo' Jock. Good elding for our winter-fire, A cod of caff wad fill a cradle, A rake of iron to clat the bire, A deuk about the dubs to paddle, The pannel of an auld led-faddle, And Rob my eem heckt me a flock, Twa lufly lips to lick a laddie. May thir no gain your Jenny 1 quo' Jock. A pair of hames and brechom fine, And without bitts a bridle-renzie, A fark made of the linkome twine, A gay green cloak that will not ftenzie ; 176 A COLLECTION Mair yet in ftore, I needna fenzie, Five hundred flaes, a fendy flock ; And are not thae a wakrife menzie, To gae to bed with Jenny and Jock ? Tak thir for my part of the feaft, It is well knawin I am well bodin : Ye need not fay my part is leaft, Wer they as meikle as they'r lodin. The wife fpeer'd gin the kail were fodin, When we have done, tak hame the brock ; The roft was teugh as raploch hodin, With which they feafted Jenny and Jock. SONG. Tune — A rock and a wee pickle tow. HAVE a green purfe, and a wee pickle gowd, •*- A bonny piece land and planting on't, It fattens my flocks, and my bairns it has ftow'd ; But the beft thing of a's yet wanting on't. To grace it, and trace it. And gie me delight ; To blefs me, and kifs me, And comfort my fight, With beauty by day, and kindnefs by night, And nae mair my lane gang fauntring on't. My Chrifty fhe's charming and good as fhe's fair ; Her een and her mouth are inchanting fweet, She fmiles me on fire, her frowns gie defpair : I love while my heart gaes panting wi't. Thou faireft, and deareft, Delight of my mind, Whofe gracious embraces By heaven were defigned For happieft tranfports, and bleffes refin'd, Nae langer delay thy granting fweet. OF CHOICE SONGS. 177 For thee, bonny Chrifly, my fhepherds and hinds Shall carefully make the year's dainties thine : Thus freed frae laigh care, while love fills our minds, Our days fhall with pleafure and plenty fhine. Then hear me, and chear me With fmiling confent, Believe me, and give me No caufe to lament, Since I ne'er can be happy, till thou fay, Content, I'm pleas' 'd with my Jamie, and hejhall be mme. SONG. To its ain tune. A LTHO' I be but a country-lafs, •**■ Yet a lofty mind I bear — O, And think myfell as good as thofe That rich apparel wear — O. Altho' my gown be hame-fpun grey, My fkin it is as faft — O. As them that fattin weeds do wear, And carry their heads aloft — O. What tho' I keep my father's fheep, The thing that muft be done — O, With garlands of the fineft flowers, To fhade me frae the fun — O. When they are feeding pleafantly, Where grafs and flowers do fpring — O, Then on a flowery bank at noon, I fet me down and fing — O. My Paifly piggy, cork'd with fage, Contains my drink but thin — O ; No wines do e'er my brains enrage, Or tempt my mind to fin — O. N 178 A COLLECTION My country-curds, and wooden fpoon, I think them unco fine — O, And on a flowery bank at noon, I fet me down and dine — O. Altho' my parents cannot raife Great bags of fhining gold — O, Like them whafe daughters, now a-days, Like fwine are bought and fold — O ; Yet my fair body it fhall keep An honeft heart within — O ; And for twice fifty thoufand crowns, I value not a prin — O. I ufe nae gums upon my hair, Nor chains about my neck — O, Nor fhining rings upon my hands, My fingers ftreight to deck — O ; But for that lad to me fhall fa', And I have grace to wed — O, I'll keep a Jewel worth them a', I mean my maidenhead — O. If canny fortune give to me The man I dearly love — O, Tho' we want gear, I dinna care, My hands I can improve — O, Expecting for a bleffing ftill Defcending from above — O, Then we'll embrace, and fweetly kifs, Repeating tales of love — O. 4fi*e& OF CHOICE SONGS. 179 Waly, waly, gin love be bonny. (~\ WALY, waly up the bank, ^-^ And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-fide, Where I and my love wont to gae. I lean'd my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trufly tree, But firft it bow'd, and fyne it brak, Sae my true love did lightly me. O waly, waly, but love be bonny, A little time while it is new, But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like the morning-dew. O wherefore mould I bufk my head 1 Or wherefore fhou'd I kame my hair ? For my true love has me forfook, And fays he'll never love me mair. Now Arthur-Seat fhall be my bed, The meets fhall ne'er be fyl'd by me, Saint Anton's well fhall be my drink, Since my true love has forfaken me. Martinmas wind when wilt thou blaw, And fhake the green leaves off the tree ? O gentle death, when wilt thou come ? For of my life I am weary. Tis not the froft that freezes fell, Nor blawing fnaw's inclemency : 'Tis not fie cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glafgow town, We were a comely fight to fee ; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I myfell in cramafie. 180 A COLLECTION But had I wifl before I kifs'd, That love had been fae ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a cafe of gold, And pinn'd it with a filver pin. Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born, And fet upon the nurfe's knee, And I myfell were dead and gane, For a maid again I'll never be. Z. A 5 The loving Lafs and Spinning- Wheel. S I fat at my fpinning-wheel, A bonny lad was paffing by : I view'd him round, and lik'd him weel, For trouth he had a glancing eye. My heart new panting 'gan to feel, But ftill I turn'd my fpinning-wheel. With looks all kindnefs he drew near, And ftill mair lovely did appear ; And round about my flender wafte He clafp'd his arms, and me embrac'd : To kifs my hand, fyne down did kneel, As I fat at my fpinning-wheel. My milk-white hands he did extol, And prais'd my fingers lang and fmall, And faid there was nae lady fair That ever cou'd with me compare. Thefe words into my heart did ileal, But ftill I turn'd my fpinning-wheel. Altho' I feemingly did chide, Yet he wad never be deny'd, But ftill declar'd his love the mair, Until my heart was wounded fair : That I my love cou'd fcarce conceal, Yet ftill I turn'd my fpinning-wheel. OF CHOICE SONGS. 181 My hanks of yarn, my rock and reel, My winnels and my fpinning-wheel ; He bid me leave them all with fpeed, And gang with him to yonder mead. My yielding heart ftrange flames did feel, Yet flill I turn'd my fpinning-wheel. About my neck his arm he laid, And whifper'd, Rife, my bonny maid, And with me to yon hay-cock go, I'll teach thee better wark to do. In troth I loo'd the motion weel, And loot alane my fpinning-wheel. Amang the pleafmg cocks of hay, Then with my bonny lad I lay ; What laffie, young and faft as I, Cou'd fie a handfome lad deny ? Thefe pleafures I cannot reveal, That far furpaft the fpinning-wheel. On the Marriage of the R. H. Lord G and Lady K C . SONG. Tune — The highland laddie. Brigantius. NOW all thy virgin-fweets are mine, And all the fhining charms that grace thee My fair Melinda, come, recline Upon my breaft, while I embrace thee, And tell without diffembling art, My happy raptures in thy bofom : Thus will I plant within thy heart, A love that fhall for ever bloffom. 182 A COLLECTION C H ORUS. O the happy, happy, brave and bonny, Sure the gods well pleas'd behold ye ; Their work admire, fo great, fo fair, And well in all your joys uphold ye. Melind A. No more I blufh, now that I'm thine, To own my love in tranfport tender, Since that fo brave a man is mine, To my Brigantius I furrender. By facred ties I'm now to move As thy exalted thoughts direct me ; And while my fmiles engage thy love, Thy manly greatnefs mail protect me. C HORUS. O the happy, &c. Brigantius. Soft fall thy words, like morning dew, New life on blowing flowers beftowing ; Thus kindly yielding makes me bow To heaven, with grateful fpirit glowing. My honour, courage, wealth, and wit, Thou dear delight, my chiefefl treafure, Shall be employ'd as thou thinks fit, As agents for our love and pleafure. Chorus. O the happy, &c. M ELINDA. With my Brigantius I could live In lonely cotts, befide a mountain, And nature's eafy wants relieve With fhepherd's fare, and quaff" the fountain. OF CHOICE SONGS. 183 What pleafes thee, the rural grove, Or congrefs of the fair and witty, Shall give me pleafure with thy love, In plains retir'd, or focial city. C HORUS. O the happy, &c. Brigantius. How fweetly canft thou charm my foul, O lovely fum of my defires ! Thy beauties all my cares controul, Thy virtue all that's good infpires. Tune every inftrument of found, Which all thy mind divinely raifes, Till every height and dale rebounds, Both loud and fweet, my darling's praifes. Chorus. O the happy, &c. Me LIN DA. Thy love gives me the brightefl mine, My happinefs is now completed, Since all that's generous, great, and fine, In my Brigantius is united ; For which I'll fludy thy delight, With kindly tale the time beguiling, And round the change of day and night, Fix throughout life a conflant fmiling. Chorus. O the happy, &c. 184 A COLLECTION SONG. Tune — Wds my heart that we JJiould f under. A DIEU, ye pleafant fports and plays, •**■ Farewell each fong that was diverting ; Love tunes my pipe to mournful lays, I fing of Delia and Damon's parting. Long had he lov'd, and long conceal'd The dear, tormenting, pleafant paffion, Till Delia's mildnefs had prevail'd On him to {hew his inclination. Juft as the fair one feem'd to give A patient ear to his love ftory, Damon muft his Delia leave, To go in queft of toilfome glory. Half-fpoken words hung on his tongue, Their eyes refus'd the ufual meeting ; And fighs fupply'd their wonted fong, Thefe charming fouls were chang'd to weeping. Dear idol of my foul, adieu : Ceafe to lament, but ne'er to love me ; While Damon lives, he lives for you, No other charms fhall ever move me. Alas ! who knows, when parted far From Delia, but you may deceive her 1 The thought deftroys my heart with care, Adieu, my dear, I fear, for ever. If ever I forget my vows, May then my guardian angel leave me : And more to aggravate my woes, Be you fo good as to forgive me. H. OF CHOICE SONGS. 185 O'er the hills and far away. JOCKY met with Jenny fair, Aft be the dawning of the day ; But Jocky now is fu' of care, Since Jenny flaw his heart away : Altho' fhe promis'd to be true, She proven has, alake ! unkind ; Which gars poor Jocky often rue, That he e'er loo'd a fickle mind. And its o'er the hills and far away, It's o'er the hills and far away, It's o'er the hills and far away, The wind has blaw?i my plaid away. Now Jocky was a bonny lad, As e'er was born in Scotland fair ; But now, poor man, he's e'en gane wood, Since Jenny has gart him defpair. Young Jocky was a piper's fon, And fell in love when he was young ; But a' the fprings that he cou'd play, Was o'er the hills and far away. And it's o'er the hills, &c. He fung — when firft my Jenny's face I faw, fhe feem'd fae fu' of grace, With meikle joy my heart was fill'd, That's now, alas ! with forrow kill'd. Oh ! was fhe but as true as fair, 'Twad put an end to my defpair, Inftead of that fhe is unkind, And wavers like the winter wind. And its o'er the hills, &c. Ah ! cou'd fhe find the difmal wae, That for her fake I undergae, She cou'd nae chufe but grant relief, And put an end to a' my grief: 186 A COLLECTION But oh ! fhe is as faufe as fair, Which caufes a' my fighs and care ; But (he triumphs in proud difdain, And takes a pleafure in my pain. And its der the hills, &c. Hard was my hap, to fa' in love With ane that does fae faithlefs prove. Hard was my fate to court a maid, That has my conftant heart betray'd. A thoufand times to me (he fware, She wad be true for evermair ; But, to my grief, alake, I fay, She flaw my heart and ran away. And its o'er the hills, &c. Since that fhe will nae pity take, I maun gae wander for her fake, And, in ilk wood and gloomy grove, I'll fighing fmg, Adieu to love ; Since (he is faufe whom I adore, I'll never trufl a woman more ; Frae a' their charms I'll flee away, And on my pipe I'll fweetly play, O'er hills and dales and far away, Out der the hills and far away, Out der the hills and far away, The wind has blawti my plaid away. Z Jenny Nettles. SAW ye Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles, Saw ye Jenny Nettles Coming frae the market ? OF CHOICE SONGS. 187 Bag and baggage on her back, Her fee and bountith in her lap ; Bag and baggage on her back, And a babie in her oxter 1 I met ayont the kairny, Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles, Singing till her bairny, Robin Rattle's baftard; To flee the dool upo' the ftool, And ilka ane that mocks her, She round about feeks Robin out, To flap it in his oxter. Fy, fy ! Robin Rattle, Robin Rattle, Robin Rattle ; Fy, fy ! Robin Rattle, Ufe Jenny Nettles kindly : Score out the blame, and fhun the fhame, And without mair debate o't, Tak hame your wean, make Jenny fain The leel and leefome gate o't. Jocky's fou, and Jenny's fain. JOCKY fou, Jenny fain, Jenny was nae ill to gain, She was couthy, he was kind, And thus the wooer tell'd his mind. Jenny, I'll nae mair be nice, Gi'e me love at ony price ; I winna prig for red or whyt, Love alane can gi'e delyt. Others feek they kenna what, In looks, in carriage, and a' that ; 188 A COLLECTION Give me love, for her I court : Love in love makes a' the fport. Colours mingl'd unco fine, Common motives lang finfyne, Never can engage my love, Until my fancy firft approve. It is na meat, but appetite That makes our eating a delyt ; Beauty is at bed deceit ; Fancy only kens nae cheat. Q. Leader-haughs and Yarrow. T 1 THEN Phoebus bright the azure ikies * * With golden rays enlight'neth, He makes all nature's beauties rife, Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick'neth : Amongft all thofe he makes his choice, And with delight goes thorow, With radiant beams and filver ftreams, Are Leader-haughs and Yarrow. x t>" When Aries the day and night In equal length divideth, Auld frofty Saturn takes his flight, Nae langer he abideth : Then Flora queen, with mantle green, Caffs aff her former forrow, And vows to dwell with Ceres fell In Leader-haughs and Yarrow. Pan playing on his aiten reed, And fhepherds him attending, Do here refort their flocks to feed, The hills and haughs commending ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 189 With cur and kent upon the bent, Sing to the fun, Good-morrow, And fwear nae fields mair pleafures yield Than Leader-haughs and Yarrow. An houfe there Hands on Leader fide, Surmounting my defcriving, With rooms fae rare, and windows fair, Like Dedalus' contriving : Men paffing by, do aften cry, In footh it hath nae marrow ; It ftands as fweet on Leader fide, As Newark does on Yarrow. A mile below, wha lifts to ride, They'll hear the mavis fmging ; Into St. Leonard's banks fhe'll bide, Sweet birks her head o'er-hinging : The lintwhite loud, and progne proud, With tuneful throats and narrow, Into St. Leonard's banks they fing, As fweetly as in Yarrow. The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee, With nimble wing fhe fporteth. By vows fhe'll flee far frae the tree Where Philomel reforteth : By break of day, the lark can fay, I'll bid you a good-morrow, I'll ftreek my wing, and mounting fing, O'er Leader-haughs and Yarrow. Park, Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, The eaft and weftern Mainfes, The wood of Lauder's fair enough, The corns are good in Blainfhes, Where aits are fine, and fald be kind, That if ye fearch all thorow Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are Than Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 190 A COLLECTION In Burn Mill-bog and Whitflade fhaws, The fearful hare fhe haunteth, Brig-haugh and Braidwoodfheil flie knaws, And Chapel-wood frequenteth. Yet when fhe irks, to Kaidfly birks She rins, and fighs for forrow, That fhe fhould leave fweet Leader-haughs, And cannot win to Yarrow. What fweeter mufic wad ye hear, Than hounds and beigles crying ? The ftarted hare rins hard with fear, Upon her fpeed relying. But yet her ftrength it fails at length, Nae bedding can fhe borrow In Sorrel's field, Cleckman or Hag's, And fighs to be in Yarrow. 'O' For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag, With fight and fcent purfue her, Till ah ! her pith begins to flag, Nae cunning can refcue her. O'er dub and dyke, o'er feugh and fyke, She'll run the fields all thorow, Till fail'd (he fa's in Leader-haughs, And bids farewell to Yarrow. Sing Erflington and Cowden-knows, Where Homes had anes commanding : And Drygrange with thy milk-white ewes, 'Twixt Tweed and Leader ftanding : The bird that flies through Reedpath trees, And Gledfwood banks ilk morrow, May chant and fing, Sweet Leader-haughs, And bonny howms of Yarrow. But minftrel Burn cannot aflwage His grief, while life endureth, To fee the changes of this age, That fleeting time procureth ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 19: For mony a place (lands in hard cafe, Where blyth fowk kend nae forrow, With Homes that dwelt on Leader fide, And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. For the fake of Somebody. FOR the fake of fomebody, For the fake of fomebody, I cou'd wake a winter-night, For the fake of fomebody : I am gawn to feek a wife, I am gawn to buy a plaidy ; I have three ftane of woo, Carling, is thy daughter ready ? For the fake of fomebody, &c. , Betty, laffie, fay't thy fell, Tho' thy dame be ill to fhoo, FirR we'll buckle, then we'll tell, Let her fiyte and fyne come too : What fignifies a mither's gloom, When love in kiffes come in play % Shou'd we wither in our bloom, And in fimmer mak nae hay 1 For the fake, &c. SHE. Bonny lad, I care na by, Tho' I try my luck with thee, Since ye are content to tye The ha'f-mark bridal band wi' me ; I'll flip hame, and wafh my feet, And (leal on linens fair and clean, Syne at the tryfting-place we'll meet, To do but what my dame has done. For the fake, &c. 192 A COLLECTION HE. Now my lovely Betty gives Confent in fie a heartfome gate, It me frae a' my care relieves, And doubts that gart me aft look blate ; Then let us gang and get the grace, For they that have an appetite Shou'd eat ; — and lovers fhou'd embrace ; If thefe be faults, 'tis nature's wyte. For the fake, &c. Norland Jocky and Southland Jenny. A SOUTHLAND Jenny that was right bonny, Had for a fuitor a norland Jonny ; But he was fican a bafhfu' wooer, That he cou'd fcarcely fpeak unto her, Till blinks of her beauty, and hopes o' her filler, Forc'd him at laft to tell his mind till her. My dear, quoth he, we'll nae langer tarry, Gin ye can loo me, let's o'er the moor and marry. SHE. Come, come away then, my norland laddie, Tho' we gang neatly, fome are mair gaudy ; And albeit I have neither gowd nor money, Come and I'll ware my beauty on thee. HE. Ye laffes of the fouth, ye're a' for dreffing ; Laffes of the north mind milking and threfhing : My minny wad be angry, and fae wad my daddy, Shou'd I marry ane as dink as a lady. For I maun hae a wife that will rife in the morning, Crudle a' the milk, and keep the houfe a-fcaulding, Toolie with her nibours, and learn at my minny, A norland Jocky maun hae a norland Jenny. OF CHOICE SONGS. 193 SHE. My father's only daughter and twenty thoufand pound, Shall never be beftow'd on fie a filly clown ; For a' that I faid was to try what was in ye, Gae hame, ye norland Jock, and court your norland Jenny. Z. The auld yellow-hair'd Laddie. ' I 'HE yellow-hair'd laddie fat down on yon brae, -*- Cries, Milk the ews, laffie, let nane of them gae ; And ay fhe milked, and ay fhe fang, The yellow-hair'd laddie JJiall be my goodman. And ay JJie milked, &c. The weather is cauld, and my claiming is thin ; The ews are new clipped, they winna bught in : They winna bught in tho' I mould die, O yellow-hair'd laddie, be kind to me : They winna bught in, &c. The goodwife cries butt the houfe, Jenny, come ben, The cheefe is to mak, and the butter's to kirn. Tho' butter, and cheefe, and a' fhou'd four, I'll crack and kifs wi' my love ae ha'f-hour ; It's ae ha'f-hour, and we's e'en make it three, For the yellow-hair'd laddie my hufband fhall be. SONG. Tune — Booth's Minuet "TJ\A.IR, fweet, and young, receive a prize, ■*■ Referv'd for your victorious eyes : From crouds whom at your feet you fee, Oh ! pity, and diftinguifh me. o 194 A COLLECTION No graces can your form improve ; But all are loll unlefs you love : If that dear paflion you difdain, Your charms and beauty are in vain. X. Part of an Epilogue, fung after the acling of the Orphan a?id Gentle Shepherd in Taylors-hall, by a fet of young gentlemen, Jan. 22, 1729. Tune— Befjy Bell. T^HUS let's fludy night and day, •*- To fit us for our flation, That when we're men, we parts may play Are ufeful to our nation. For now's the time, when we are young, To fix our views on merit, Water its buds, and make the tongue And actions fuit the fpirit. This all the fair and wife approve, We know it by your fmiling, And while we gain refpect and love, Our ftudies are not toiling. Such application gives delight, And in the end proves gainful, Tho' many a dark and lifelefs wight May think it hard and painful. Then never let us think our time And care, when thus employ' d, Are thrown away, but deem't a crime, When youth's by floth deftroy'd ; 'Tis only active fouls can rife To fame, and all that's fplendid, And favour in thefe conquering eyes, 'Gainft whom no heart's defended. OF CHOICE SONGS. 195 The generous Gentleman. A Sang. Tune — The bonny lafs of Brankfome. AS I came in by Teviot-fide, And by the braes of Brankfome, There firft I faw my bonnie bride, Young, fmiling, fweet, and handfome ; Her fkin was fafter than the down, And white as alabafter; Her hair a mining wavy brown, In ftraightnefs nane furpafs'd her : Life glow'd upon her lip and cheek, Her clear een were furprifing, And beautifully turn'd her neck, Her little breafts juft rifmg : Nae filken hofe, with goofhets fine, Or fhoon with glancing laces, On her fair leg, forbade to fhine, Well fhapen native graces. Ae little coat, and bodice white, Was fum of a' her claithing ; Even thae's o'er meikle ; mair delyte She'd given cled with naething : She lean'd upon a flow'ry brae, By which a burnie trotted ; On her I glower'd my faul away, While on her fweets I doted. A thoufand beauties of defert Before had fcarce alarm' d me, Till this dear artlefs ftruck my heart, And, bot defigning, charm'd me. Hurry'd by love, clofe to my breaft I grafp'd this fund of bliffes ; Wha fmil'd, and faid, Without a prieft, Sir, hope for nought but kiffes. 196 A COLLECTION I had nae heart to do her harm, And yet I cou'dna want her ; What fhe demanded, ilka charm Of her's pled, I fhou'd grant her. Since heaven had dealt to me a rowth, Straight to the kirk I led her, There plighting her my faith and trowth, And a young lady made her. The happy Clown. TTOW happy is the rural clown, •*• -*- Who, far remov'd from noife of town, Contemns the glory of a crown, And in his fafe retreat Is pleafed with his low degree, Is rich in decent poverty, From ftrife, from care and bus'nefs free, At once baith good and great ! No drums difturb his morning fleep, He fears no danger of the deep, Nor noify law, nor courts ne'er heap Vexation on his mind : No trumpets roufe him to the war, No hopes can bribe, no threats can dare ; From ftate intrigues he holds afar, And liveth unconfin'd. Like thofe in golden ages born, He labours gently to adorn His fmall paternal fields of corn, And on their product feeds : Each feafon of the wheeling year, Induftrious he improves with care ; And ftill fome ripen'd fruits appear, So well his toil fucceeds. OF CHOICE SONGS. 197 Now by a filver flream he lies, And angles with his baits and flies, And next the fylvan fcene he tries, His fpirit to regale : Now from the rock or height he views His fleecy flock, or teeming cows, Then tunes his reed, or tries his mufe, That waits his honeft call. Amidft his harmlefs eafy joys, No care his peace of mind deftroys, Nor does he pafs his time in toys Beneath his juft regard : He's fond to feel the zephyr's breeze, To plant and fned his tender trees : And for attending well his bees, Enjoys the fweet reward. The flow'ry meads, and filent coves, The fcenes of faithful rural loves, And warbling birds on blooming groves, Afford a wifh'd delight : But O ! how pleafant is this life, Blefs'd with a chafte and virtuous wife, And children prattling, void of ftrife, Around his fire at night. Willy was a wanton Wag. WILLY was a wanton wag, The blytheA lad that e'er I faw, At bridals ftill he bore the brag, And carried ay the gree awa : His doublet was of Zetland fhag, And wow ! but Willy he was braw, And at his fhouder hang a tag, That pleas'd the laffes beft of a'. 198 A COLLECTION He was a man without a clag, His heart was frank without a flaw ; And ay whatever Willy faid, It was flill hadden as a law. His boots they were made of the jag, When he went to the weapon-fhaw, Upon the green nane durft him brag, The fiend a ane amang them a'. And was not Willy well worth gowd 1 He wan the love of great and fma' ; For after he the bride had kifs'd, He kifs'd the laffes hale-fale a'. Sae merrily round the ring they row'd, When be the hand he led them a', And fmack on fmack on them beftow'd, By virtue of a (landing law. And was na Willy a great lown, As fhyre a lick as e'er was feen 1 When he danc'd with the laffes round, The bridegroom fpeer'd where he had been. Quoth Willy, I've been at the ring, With bobbing, faith, my (hanks are fair ; Gae ca' your bride and maidens in, For Willy he dow do nae mair. Then reft ye, Willy, I'll gae out, And for a wee fill up the ring. But, (hame light on his fouple fnout, He wanted Willy's wanton fling. Then ftraight he to the bride did fare, Says, Well's me on your bonny face, With bobbing Willy's (hanks are fair, And I am come out to fill his place. Bridegroom, (he fays, you'll fpoil the dance, And at the ring you'll ay be lag, Unlefs, like Willy, ye advance ; (O ! Willy has a wanton leg ;) OF CHOICE SONGS. 199 For wi't he learns us a' to fleer, And foremoft ay bears up the ring ; We will find nae fie dancing here, If we want Willy's wanton fling. W. W. Celia's Reflections on herfelf for fliehtinsf Philander's Love. Tune — The gallant Jlwemaker. YOUNG Philander woo'd me lang, But I was peevifh and forbad him, I wadna' tent his loving fang ; But now I wifh, I wifh I had him : Ilk morning when I view my glafs, Then I perceive my beauty going ; And when the wrinkles feize the face, Then we may bid adieu to wooing. My beauty, anes fo much admir'd, I find it fading faft, and flying, My cheeks, which coral-like appear'd, Grow pale, the broken blood decaying. Ah ! we may fee ourfelves to be, Like fummer-fruit that is unfhaken ; When ripe, they foon fall down and die, And by corruption quickly taken. Ufe then your time, ye virgins fair, Employ your day before 'tis evil ; Fifteen is a feafon rare, But five and twenty is the devil. Juft when ripe, confent unto't, Hug nae mair your lanely pillow ; Women are like other fruit, They lofe their relifh when too mellow. 200 A COLLECTION If opportunity be loft, You'll find it hard to be regained ; Which now I may tell to my coft, Tho' but myfell nane can be blamed : If then your fortune you refpe<5t, Take the occafion when it offers ; Nor a true lover's fuit neglecft, Left you be fcoff'd for being fcoffers. I, by his fond expreffions, thought, That in his love he'd ne'er prove changing ; But now, alas ! 'tis turn'd to nought, And, pafl my hope, he's gane a-ranging. Dear maidens, then take my advice, And let na coynefs prove your ruin ; For if ye be o'er foolifh nice, Your fuitors will give over wooing. Then maidens aidd you nam'd will be, And in that fretfu' rank be number'd, As lang as life ; and when ye die, With leading apes be ever cumber'd : A punifhment, and hated brand, With which nane of us are contented ; Then be not wife behind the hand, That the miftake may be prevented. The young Ladies' Thanks to the repent- ing Virgin, for her feafonable Advice. r\ VIRGIN kind ! we canna tell ^-^ How many many thanks we owe you, For pointing out to us fae well Thofe very rocks that did o'erthrow you ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 201 And we your leffon fae fhall mind, That e'en tho' a' our kin had fwore it, Ere we fhall be an hour behind, We'll take a year or twa before it. We'll catch all winds blaw in our fails, And ftill keep out our flag and pinnet ; If young Philander anes affails To florm love's fort, then he fhall win it : We may indeed, for modefty, Prefent our forces for refiftance ; But we fhall quickly lay them by, And contribute to his affiftance. .♦x«x»x»x»x*x*x*x«X'»: The Stepdaughter's Relief. Tune — The kirk wad lei me be. T WAS anes a well tocher'd lafs, *- My mither left dollars to me ; But now I'm brought to a poor pafs, My ftepdame has gart them flee. My father he's aften frae hame, And fhe plays the deel with his gear; She neither has lawtith nor fhame, And keeps the hale houfe in a fleer. She's barmy-fac'd, thriftlefs, and bauld, And gars me aft fret and repine ; While hungry, ha'f naked, and cauld, I fee her deftroy what's mine : But foon I might hope a revenge, And foon of my forrows be free, My poortith to plenty wad change, If fhe were hung up on a tree. 202 A COLLECTION Quoth Ringan, wha lang time had loo'd This bonny lafs tenderly, I'll take thee, fweet May, in thy fnood, Gif thou wilt gae hame with me. 'Tis only yourfell that I want, Your kindnefs is better to me Than a' that your ftepmother, fcant Of grace, now has taken frae thee. I'm but a young farmer, 'tis true, And ye are the fprout of a laird ; But I have milk-cattle enow, And rowth of good rucks in my yard ; Ye fhall have naething to fafh ye, Sax fervants fhall jouk to thee : Then kilt up thy coats, my laffie, And gae thy ways hame with me. The maiden her reafon employ'd, Not thinking the offer amifs, Confented ; — while Ringan o'erjoy'd, Receiv'd her with mony a kifs. And now fhe fits blythly fmgan, And joking her drunken ftepdame, Delighted with her dear Ringan, That makes her goodwife at hame. Jeany, where has thou been ? f~\ JEANY, Jeany, where has thou been? v -^ Father and mother are feeking of thee ; Ye have been ranting, playing the wanton, Keeping of Jocky company. O Betty, I've been to hear the mill clack, Getting meal ground for the family ; Asfozv as it gade I brang hame thefack, For the miller has taken nae mow ter frae me. OF CHOICE SONGS. 203 Ha ! Jeany, Jeany, there's meal on your back, The miller's a wanton billy, and flee ; Tho' victual's come hame again hale, what-reck, I fear he has taken his mowter aff thee. And, Betty, ye fpread your linen to bleach, When that zuas done, where cotid you be? Ha ! lafs, I faw ye flip down the hedge, And wanton Willy was following thee. Ay, Jeany, Jeany, ye gaed to the kirk ; But when it fkail'd, where cou'd thou be 1 Ye came na hame till it was mirk, They fay the kiffing clerk came wi' ye. O filly laffie, what wilt thou do 1 If thou grow great, they'll heez thee hie. Look to yourfell, if Jock prove true : The clerk frae creepies will keep me free. Q. SONG. Tune — Lafl time I came der the moor. Y E blythefl lads and laffes gay, Hear what my fang difclofes. As I ae morning fleeping lay Upon a bank of rofes, Young Jamie whifking o'er the mead, By good luck chanc'd to fpy me ; He took his bonnet aff his head, And faftly fat down by me. Jamie tho' I right meikle priz'd, Yet now I wadna ken him ; But with a frown my face difguis'd, And flrave away to fend him : 2o 4 A COLLECTION But fondly he ftill nearer prefl, And by my fide down lying, His beating heart thumped fae faft, I thought the lad was dying. But ftill refolving to deny, And angry paffion feigning, I aften roughly fhot him by, With words full of difdaining. Poor Jamie bawk'd, nae favour wins, Went aff much difcontented ; But I in truth, for a' my fins, Ne'er haff fae fair repented. X. The Cock Laird. A Cock laird fou cadgie, -^*- With Jenny did meet, He haws'd her, he kifs'd her, And ca'd her his fweet. Wilt thou gae alang Wi' me, Jenny, Jenny 1 Thoufe be my ain lemman, Jo Jenny, quoth he. If I gae alang wi' ye, Ye maunna fail To feaft me with caddels And good hacket-kail. The deel's in your nicety, Jenny, quoth he, Mayna bannocks of bear-meal Be as good for thee ? And I maun hae pinners, With pearling fet round, A fkirt of puddy, And a waftecoat of brown. OF CHOICE SONGS. 205 Awa with fie vanities, Jenny, quoth he, For kurchis and kirtles Are fitter for thee. My lairdfhip can yield me As meikle a-year, As had us in pottage And good knockit bear : But having nae tenants, O Jenny, Jenny, To buy ought I ne'er have A penny, quoth he. The borrowftoun merchants Will fell ye on tick, For we maun hae braw things, Albeit they foud break. When broken, frae care The fools are fet free, When we make them lairds In the Abbey, quoth fhe. The Soger Laddie. MY foger laddie is over the fea, And he will bring gold and money to me ; And when he comes hame, he'll make me a lady ; My bleffing gang with my foger laddie. My doughty laddie is handfome and brave, And can as a foger and lover behave ; True to his country, to love he is fteady, There's few to compare with my foger laddie. Shield him, ye angels, frae death in alarms, Return him with laurels to my langing arms ; 206 A COLLECTION Syne frae all my care he'll pleafantly free me, When back to my withes my foger ye gie me. O foon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, As quickly they mud, if he get his due : For in noble actions his courage is ready, Which makes me delight in my foger laddie. The Archers' March. SOUND, found the mufic, found it, Let hills and dales rebound it, Let hills and dales rebound it, In praife of archery : Its origin divine is, The practice brave and fine is, Which generoufly inclines us To guard our liberty. Art by the gods employed, By which heroes enjoyed, By which heroes enjoyed The wreaths of victory. The deity of Parnaffus, The god of foft careffes, Chafle Cynthia and her laffes, Delight in archery. See, fee yon bow extended ! 'Tis Jove himfelf that bends it, 'Tis Jove himfelf that bends it, O'er clouds on high it glows. All nations, Turks and Parthians, The Tartars and the Scythians, The Arabs, Moors, and Indians, With bravery draw their bows. OF CHOICE SONGS. 207 Our own true records tell us, That none cou'd e'er excel us, That none cou'd e'er excel us In martial archery : With fhafts our fires engaging, Oppos'd the Romans raging, Defeat the fierce Norvegian, And fpared few Danes to flee. Witnefs Largs and Loncartie, Dunkel and Aberlemny, Dunkel and Aberlemny, Roflin and Bannockburn, The Cheviots all the border, Were bowmen in brave order, Told enemies, if furder They mov'd, they'd ne'er return. Sound, found the mufic, found it, Let hills and dales rebound it, Let hills and dales rebound it, In praife of archery : Us'd as a game it pleafes, The mind to joy it raifes, And throws off all difeafes Of lazy luxury. Now, now our care beguiling, When all the year looks fmiling, When all the year looks fmiling, With healthful harmony : The fun in glory glowing, With morning-dew bellowing, Sweet fragrance, life, and growing, To flowers and every tree. 'Tis now the archers royal, An hearty band and loyal, An hearty band and loyal, That in jufl thoughts agree : 2 o8 A COLLECTION Appear in ancient bravery, Defpifing all bafe knavery, Which tends to bring in flavery Souls worthy to live free. Sound, found the mufic, found it, Fill up the glafs and round wi't, Fill up the glafs and round wi't, Health and profperity T our great Chief and Officers, T' our Prefident and Coimfellors : To all, who, like their brave forbears, Delight in archery. Largs, where the Norwegians, headed by their valiant King Haco, were, anno 1263, totally defeated by Alexander III. King of Scots ; the heroic Alexander, Great Steward of Scot- land, commanded the right wing. Loncartie, near Perth, where King Kenneth III. obtained the victory over the Danes, which was principally owing to the valour and refolution of the firft brave Hay, and his two fons. Dunkel, here, and in Kyle, and on the banks of Tay, our great King Corbredus Galdus, in three battles, overthrew 30,000 Romans, in the reign of the Emperor Domitian. Aberlemny, four miles from Brechin, where King Malcolm II. obtained a glorious victory over the united armies of Danes, Norwegians, and Cumbrians, etc., commanded by Sueno, King of Denmark, and his warlike fon Prince Canute. Roflin, about five miles fouth of Edinburgh, where 10,000 Scots, led by Sir John Cumin and Sir Simon Fraser, defeated in three battles, in one day, 30,000 of their enemies, anno 1303. The battles of Bannockburn and Cheviot, etc., are fo well known, that they require no notes. •? OF CHOICE SONGS. 209 The following SONGS fung in their proper places, at acling of the Gentle Shepherd. Sang I. TJie wawking of thefanlds. Sung by Patie. Y Peggy is a young thing, M Juft enter'd in her teens, Fair as the day, and fweet as May, Fair as the day, and always gay. My Peggy is a young thing, And I'm not very auld, Yet well I like to meet her at The wawking of the fauld. My Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly, Whene'er we meet alane, I wifh nae mair, to lay my care. I wifh nae mair of a' that's rare. My Peggy fpeaks fae fweetly, To a' the lave I'm cauld ; But fhe gars a' my fpirits glow At wawking of the fauld. My Peggy fmiles fae kindly, Whene'er I whifper love, That I look down on a' the town, That I look down upon a crown. My Peggy fmiles fae kindly, It makes me blyth and bauld, And naething gi'es me fie delight, As wawking of the fauld. My Peggy fings fae faftly, When on my pipe I play ; By a' the reft it is confefs'd, By a' the reft, that fhe fings beft. p 210 A COLLECTION My Peggy fings fae faftly, And in her fangs are tald, With innocence, the wale of fenfe, At wawking of the fauld. Sang II. Fy gar rub her o'er withjlrae. Sung by Patie. ^EAR Roger, if your Jenny geek, -'--' And anfwer kindnefs with a flight, Seem unconcern'd at her neglect, For women in a man delight : But them defpife who're foon defeat, And with a Ample face give way To a repulfe ; — then be not blate, Pufli bauldly on, and win the day. When maidens, innocently young, Say aften what they never mean, Ne'er mind their pretty lying tongue, But tent the language of their een. If thefe agree, and fhe periifl To anfwer all your love with hate, Seek elfewhere to be better blefs'd, And let her figh when 'tis too late. Sang III. Polwart on the green. Sung by Peggy. THHE dorty will repent, •*- If lover's heart grow cauld, And nane her fmiles will tent, Soon as her face looks auld. o OF CHOICE SONGS. 211 The dawted bairn thus takes the pet, Nor eats, tho' hunger crave, Whimpers and tarrows at its meat, And's laugh'd at by the lave ; They jeft it till the dinner's pafl : Thus, by itfell abus'd,' The fool thing is oblig'd to faft, Or eat what they've refus'd. Sang IV. dear mother, whatjltall I do? Sung by Jenny. DEAR Peggy, love's beguiling, We ought not to truft his fmiling ; Better far to do as I do, Left a harder luck betide you. Laffes, when their fancy's carry'd, Think of nought but to be marry'd ; Running to a life deftroys Heartfome, free, and youthfu' joys. Sang V. How can I be fad on my ivedding day ? Sung by Peggy. HOW fhall I be fad when a hufband I hae, That has better fenfe than any of thae Sour weak filly fellows, that ftudy like fools To fink their ain joy, and make their wives fnools % The man who is prudent, ne'er lightlies his wife, Or with dull reproaches encourages ftrife ; He praifes her virtues, and ne'er will abufe Her for a fmall failing, but find an excufe. 212 A COLLECTION Sang VI. Nancy's to the greenwood gane. Sung by Jenny. I YIELD, dear laffie, ye have won, And there is nae denying, That fure as light flows frae the fun, Frae love proceeds complying ; For a' that we can do or fay 'Gainft love, nae thinker heeds us ; They ken our bofoms lodge the fae That by the heart-ftrings leads us. ticn Sang VII. Cauld kail in Aberdeen. Sung by Glaud or Symon. /"~*AULD be the rebels call, ^-" Oppreffors bafe and bloody, I hope we'll fee them at the lafl Strung a' up in a woody. Blefl be he of worth and fenfe, And ever high his ftation, That bravely Hands in the defence Of confcience, king, and nation. Sang VIII. Mucking of Geordfs byre. Sung by Symon. THE laird who in riches and honour Wad thrive, fhould be kindly and free, Nor rack the poor tenants, who labour To rife aboon poverty : OF CHOICE SONGS. 213 Elfe, like the pack-horfe that's unfother'd, And burden'd, will tumble down faint ; Thus virtue by hardfhip is fmother'd, And rackers aft tine their rent. Sang IX. Carle and the King come. Sung by Mause. PEGGY, now the king's come, Peggy, now the King's come, Thou may dance, and I fhall fmg, Peggy, fmce the king's come. Nae mair the hawkies thou (halt milk, But change thy plaiding coat for filk, And be a lady of that ilk, Now, Peggy, fmce the king's come. Sang X. Winter was cauld, and my claithing was thin. Sung by Peggy and Patie. Peggy. WHEN firft my dear laddie gade to the green hill, And I at ew-milking firft fey'd my young fkill, To bear the milk-bowie, nae pain was to me. When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee. Patie. When corn-riggs wav'd yellow, and blew hether bells Bloom'd bonny on moorland and fweet rifing fells, Nae birns, brier, or breckens gave trouble to me, If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee. 214 A COLLECTION Peggy. When thou ran, or wreflled, or putted the ftane, And came aff the victor, my heart was ay fain : Thy ilka fport manly gave pleafure to me, For nane can put, wreftle, or run fwift as thee. P ATI E. Our Jenny lings faftly the Cowden broom-knows, And Rofie lilts fweetly the Milking the ews ; There's few Jenny Nettles like Nancy can fmg, At TJirow the wood laddie, Befs gars our lugs ring : But when my dear Peggy fings with better (kill, The Boat-man, 7 weed-fide, or the Lafs of the mill, 'Tis many times fweeter and pleafmg to me : For tho' they fmg nicely, they cannot like thee. Peggy. How eafy can laffes trow what they defire ? And praifes fae kindly increafes love's fire : Give me ftill this pleafure, my ftudy fhall be To make myfelf better and fweeter for thee. -zjcn- Sang XI. By the delicious warmnefs of thy mouth. Sung by Patie and Peggy. Printed in the Pastoral, and in this Miscellany, Vol L, p. 77. Sang XII. Happy Clown. Sung by Sir William. ID from himfelf, now by the dawn He flarts as frefli as rofes blawn, H OF CHOICE SONGS. 215 And ranges o'er the heights and lawn, After his bleating flocks : Healthful, and innocently gay- He chants, and whittles out the day ; Untaught to fmile and then betray, Like courtly weather-cocks. Life happy from ambition free, Envy and vile hypocrifie, Where truth and love with joys agree, Unfully'd with a crime : Unmov'd with what ditturbs the great, In propping of their pride and ttate, He lives, and, unafraid of fate, Contented fpends his time. tan Sang XIII. Leith-Wynd. Sung by Jenny and Roger. WERE I affur'd you'll conttant prove, You fhould nae mair complain, The eafy maid, befet with love, Few words will quickly gain ; For I mutt own, now fince you're free, This too fond heart of mine Has lang, a black-fole true to thee, Wifh'd to be pair'd with thine. Roger. I'm happy now, ah ! let my head Upon thy breaft recline ; The pleafure ftrikes me nearhand dead ! Is Jenny then fae kind ! 216 A COLLECTION O let me brifs thee to my heart ! And round my arms entwine : Delytful thought ! we'll never part : Come prefs thy mouth to mine. -uan- Sang XIV. O'er Bogie. Sung by Jenny. VXTELL, I agree, you're fure of me ; * V Next to my father gae, Make him content to give confent, He'll hardly fay you nay : For you have what he wad be at, And will commend you weel, Since parents auld think love grows cauld, Where bairns want milk and meal. Shou'd he deny, I carena by, He'd contradict in vain. Tho' a' my kin had faid and fworn, But thee I will have nane. Then never range, or learn to change, Like thofe in high degree : And if you prove faithful in love, You'll find nae fault in me. Sang XV. Wat ye who, I met yejlreen. Sung by Sir William. "IVTOW from rufticity, and love, ■*■ ^ Whofe flames but over lowly burn, My gentle fhepherd mufl be drove, His foul mufl take another turn : OF CHOICE SONGS. 217 As the rough diamond from the mine, In breaking only fhews its light, Till polifhing has made it fhine ; Thus learning makes the genius bright. Sang XVI. Kirk wad let me be. Sung by Patie. DUTY and part of reafon Plead ftrong on the parent's fide, Which love fuperior calls treafon ; The ftrongeft muft be obey'd : For now, tho' I'm one of the gentry, My conftancy falfhood repels ; For change on my heart has no entry, Still there my dear Peggy excels. Sang XVII. Woes my heart that we JJiouldf under. Sung by Peggy. SPEAK on, — fpeak thus, and ftill my grief, Hold up a heart that's finking under Thefe fears, that foon will want relief, When Pate muft from his Peggy funder. A gentler face, and filk attire, A lady rich in beauty's bloffom, Alake poor me ! will now confpire To fteal thee from thy Peggy's bofom. 218 A COLLECTION No more the fliepherd who excell'd The reft, whofe wit made them to wonder, Shall now his Peggy's praifes tell ; Ah ! I can die, but never funder. Ye meadows where we often ftray'd, Ye banks where we were wont to wander, Sweet-fcented rucks, round which we play'd, You'll lofe your fweets when we're afunder. Again, ah ! fhall I never creep Around the know with filent duty, Kindly to watch thee while afleep, And wonder at thy manly beauty 1 Hear, heaven, while folemnly I vow, Tho' thou fhouldft prove a wand'ring lover, Through life to thee I fhall prove true, Nor be a wife to any other. Sang XVIII. Tweed-fide. Sung by Peggy. ■\^7"HEN hope was quite funk in defpair, V * My heart it was going to break ; My life appear'd worthlefs my care, But now I will fav't for thy fake. Where-e'er my love travels by day, Where-ever he lodges by night, With me his dear image fhall flay, And my foul keep him ever in fight. With patience I'll wait the long year, And ftudy the gentleft charms ; Hope time away till thou appear, To lock thee for ay in thofe arms. OF CHOICE SONGS. 219 Whilfl thou waft a fhepherd, I priz'd No higher degree in this life ; But now I'll endeavour to rife To a height that's becoming thy wife. For beauty that's only fkin-deep, Muft fade like the gowans in May ; But inwardly rooted, will keep For ever, without a decay. Nor age, nor the changes of life, Can quench the fair fire of love, If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife, And the hufband have fenfe to approve. Sang XIX. Bnjli aboon Traquair. Sung by Peggy. AT fetting day and rifing morn, With foul that ftill fhall love thee, I'll afk of heav'n thy fafe return, With all that can improve thee. I'll vifit oft the birken bufh, Where firft thou kindly told me Sweet tales of love, and hid my blufh, Whilfl round thou didft infold me. To all our haunts I will repair, By greenwood, fhaw, or fountain ; Or where the fumnier-day I'd fhare With thee, upon yon mountain. There will I tell the trees and flow'rs, From thoughts unfeign'd and tender, By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart which cannot wander. 220 A COLLECTION Sang XX. Bonny grey-efd morn. Sung by Sir William. HTHE bonny grey-ey'd morning begins to peep, ■*- And darknefs flies before the rifing ray, The hearty hynd ftarts from his lazy fieep, To follow healthful labours of the day ; Without a guilty fling to wrinkle his brow, The lark and the linnet 'tend his levee, And he joins their concert, driving his plow, From toil of grimace and pageantry free. While flufter'd with wine, or madden'd with lofs Of half an eftate, the prey of a main, The drunkard and gamefter tumble and tofs, Wifhing for calmnefs and flumber in vain. Be my portion health and quietnefs of mind, Plac'd at due diftance from parties and Mate, Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind, Reach him who has happinefs link'd to his fate. On our Ladies being dreffed in Scots manufactory, at a public Affembly. SONG. Tune — O'er the hills and far away. LET meaner beauties ufe their art, And range both Indies for their drefs, Our fair can captivate the heart In native weeds, nor look the lefs. OF CHOICE SONGS. 221 More bright unborrow'd beauties fhine, The artlefs fweetnefs of each face Sparkles with luftres more divine, When freed of every foreign grace. The tawny nymph on fcorching plains, May ufe the aid of gems and paint, Deck with brocade and Tyrian ftains Features of ruder form and taint. What Caledonian ladies wear, Or from the lint or woollen twine, Adorn'd by all their fweets, appear Whate'er we can imagine fine. Apparel neat becomes the fair, The dirty drefs may lovers cool ; But clean, our maids need have no care, If clad in linen, filk or wool. T' adore Myrtilla who can ceafe 1 Her aclive charms our praife demand, Clad in a mantua, from the fleece, Spun by her own delighted hand. Who can behold Califta's eyes, Her breaft, her cheek, and fnowy arms, And mind what artifts can devife, To rival more fuperior charms 1 Compar'd with thofe, the diamond's dull, Lawns, fatins, and the velvets fade ; The foul with her attractions full, Can never be by thefe betray'd. Sapphira, all o'er native fweets, Not the falfe glare of drefs regards, Her wit, her character completes, Her fmile her lovers fighs rewards. 222 A COLLECTION When fuch firft beauties lead the way, Th' inferior rank will follow foon j Then arts no longer fhall decay, But trade encourag'd be in tune. Millions of fleeces fhall be wove, And flax that on the valleys blooms, Shall make the naked nations love And blefs the labours of our looms : We have enough, nor want from them, But trifles hardly worth our care, Yet for thefe trifles let them claim What food and cloth we have to fpare. How happy's Scotland in her fair ! Her amiable daughters fhall, By acting thus with virtuous care, Again the golden age recall : Enjoying them, Edina ne'er Shall mifs a court ; but foon advance In wealth, when thus the lov'd appear Around the fcenes, or in the dance. Barbarity fhall yield to fenfe, And lazy pride to ufeful arts, When fuch dear angels in defence Of virtue thus engage their hearts. Blefs'd guardians of our joys and wealth, True fountains of delight and love, Long bloom your charms, fix'd be your health, Till tir'd with earth ye mount above. ■¥ OF CHOICE SONGS. 223 H ARD YKNUTE. A fragment of an old heroic ballad. 1. STATELY ftept he eaft the wa, And {lately ftept he weft, Full feventy years he now had feen, With fcarce feven years of reft. He liv'd when Britons breach of faith Wrought Scotland meikle wae : And ay his fword tauld to their coft, He was their deadly fae. 11. Hie on a hill his caftle ftude, With halls and towers a hight, And guidly chambers fair to fee, Where he lodg'd mony a knight. His dame fae pierlefs anes and fair, For chafte and beauty deimt, Nae marrow had in all the land, Save Elenor the Queen. in. Full thirteen fons to him fhe bare, All men of valour flout : In bluidy fight, with fword in hand, Nyne loft their lives bot doubt ; Four yet remain, lang may they live To ftand by liege and land : Hie was their fame, hie was their might, And hie was their command. 224 A COLLECTION IV. Great love they bare to Fairly fair, Their filler faft and deir, Her girdle fhawd her middle jimp, And gowden glift her hair. What waefou wae her bewtie bred ? Waefou to young and auld, Waefou I trou to kyth and kin, As flory ever tauld. The king of Norfe in fummer-tide, Puft up with power and might, Landed in fair Scotland the ille, With mony a hardy knight : The tidings to our gude Scots King Came as he fat at dyne, With noble chiefs in brave array, Drinking the blude-red wyne. VI. " To horfe, to horfe, my royal liege, Your faes ftand on the ftrand, Full twenty thoufand glittering fpears The king of Norfe commands." Bring me my fleed, Madge, dapple gray, Our gude king raife and cry'd ; A trnjlier beaft in all the land A Scots king never fey 'd. VII. Go, little page, tell Hardyknute, That lives on hill fo hie, To draw his /word the dreid of faes, A?id hafle and follow me. OF CHOICE SONGS. 225 The little page flew fwift as dart Flung by his mailer's arm, Come down, come down, Lord Hardyknute, And redd your king f roe harm. VIII. Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown cheiks, Sae did his dark-brown brow ; His looks grew keen as they were wont In dangers great to do ; He has tane a horn as green as grafs, And gien five founds fae fhrill, That trees in greenwood fhook thereat, Sae loud rang ilka hill. IX. His fons in manly fport and glie, Had pad the hammer's morn, When lo ! down in a graffy dale, They heard their father's horn. TJiat horn, quoth they, nier founds in peace, We have other fport to byde; And foon they hey'd them up the hill, And foon were at his fyde. x. Late, late yeflreen L weind in peace, To end my lengthened life, My age might weill excufe my arm, Frae manly feats of flrife; But now that Norfe does proudly boafl Fair Scotland to enthrall, Its ne'er be f aid of Hardyknute, He fear d to fight or fall. Q 226 A COLLECTION xr. Robin of Roth/ay, bend thy bow, Thy arrow Jlwotfo leil, Mony a comely countenance They have turned to deidly pale : Brade Thomas, tak ye but your lance, Ye neid ?iae weapons mair, Gif ye fight well as ye did anes ' Gain ft Weftmorland's fierce heir. XII. Malcom, light of foot as flag That rims inforeft wyld, Get me my ihoufands three of men Well bred to fword and Jliield : Bring me my horfe and harnifine, My blade of metal cleir. If faes kend but the hand it bare, They foon had fled for fear. XIII. Fareiveil, my dame, fae pierlefs good, And took her by the hand, Fairer to me in age you feem, Than maids for beauty f am' d: My youngeft f on fall here remain To guard thefe ftately towirs, Andftiut thefilver bolt that helps Sac f aft your painted bowirs. XIV. And firft flie wet her comely cheiks, And then her boddice green, Hir filken cords of twirtle twift, Weil plet with filver fheen ; OF CHOICE SONGS. 227 And apron fet with mony a dyce Of needle-wark fae rare, Wove by nae hand, as ye may guefs, Save that of Fairly fair. xv. And he has ridden owre muir and mofs, Owre hills and mony a glen, When he came to a wounded knight Making a heavy mane ; Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, By treacherous false Gyles ; Witlefs I was that e'er gave faith To wicked woman's f my les. XVI. Sir Knight, gin ye were in my bowir, To lean on filkejt feat, My lady's kindly care you 'd prove, Wha neir kend deidly hate ; Hirfelf wald watch ye all the day, Her maids a deid of nicht ; And Fairly fair your heart wald cheir, As flie flands in your fight. XVII. Arife, young knight, and mount your fileid, Full towns the Jfiynand day, Chufefrae my 7nenzie whom ye pleafe To lead ye on the way. With fmylefs look and vifage wan, The wounded knight reply'd, Kind chiftain, your intent purfue, For heir I maim abyde. 228 A COLLECTION XVIII. To me nae after day nor night Can eir befweit or fair, Butfoon beneath fome drappins; trie, Caidd death fall end my care. With him nae pleading might prevail, Brave Hardyknute to gain, With fairefl words and reafon flrang, Strave courteoufly in vain. XIX. Syne he has gane far hynd attowre, Lord Chattan's land fae wyde, That lord a worthy wight was ay, When faes his courage fey'd : Of Piaifh race by mother's fyde, When Pias rul'd Caledon, Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid, When he fav'd PicT-ifli crown. xx. Now with his fierce and flalwart train, He reach'd a rifmg height, Whair braid encampit on the dale, Norfe army lay in fight ; Yonder, my valiant fons and f eir s, Our raging ravers wait On the unconauer'd Scottifli fwaird, To try with us their fate. XXI. Mak orifons to him that fav'd Our f aids upon the rude, Syne bravely fliaw your veins arefilVd With Caledonian blude. OF CHOICE SONGS. 229 Then furth he drew his trufly glaive, While thoufands all around, Drawn frae their (heaths glanc'd in the fun, And loud the bougils found. XXII. To join his king adoun the hill In hafte his march he made, Whyle, playand pibrochs minftralls meit, Afore him (lately ftrade. Thryfe welcome valiant Jloup of zveir, Thy nation 's JJiield and pryde ; Thy king nae reafon has to feir When thou art by his fyde. ,. XXIII. When bows were bent and darts were thrawn, For thrang fcarce cou'd they flie, The darts clove arrows as they met, The arrows dart the trie. Lang did they rage and fight full fierce, With little (kaith to man, But bluddy, bluddy was the field, Or that lang day was dane. XXIV. The king of Scots that findle bruik'd The war that look'd like play, Drew his braid fword, and brake his bow, Sen bows feim't but delay : Quoth noble Rothfay, Myne Til keip, I wate its bled a /core. Hafte up, my merry men, cry'd the king, As he rade on before. 2 3 o A COLLECTION XXV. The king of Norfe he fought to find, With him to menfe the fight, But on his forehead there did light A fharp unfonfie fhaft ; As he his hand put up to find The wound, an arrow keen, O waefou chance ! there pinn'd his hand In midft between his een. XXVI. Revenge, revenge, cry'd Rot/fay's heir, Your mail-coat fall nocht byde Thejlrength and JJiarpnefs of my dart; Then fent it through his fyde : Another arrow weil he mark'd, It pierc'd his neck in twa, His hands then quat the filver reins, He laigh as eard did fa. XXVII. Sair blieds my liege, fair, fair he blieds. Again with might he drew And gefture dreid his fturdy bow, Fail the braid arrow flew. Wae to the knight he ettled at, Lament now, Quene Elgried ; Hie dames too wail your darling's fall, His youth and comely meid. XXVIII. Take off, take off his coflly jupe: (Of gold weil was it twin'd, Knit lyke the fowler's net, through which His ileilly harnefs fhyn'd) : OF CHOICE SONGS. 231 Take, Norfe, that gift f roe me, and bid Him venge the blude it beirs ; Say, if he face my bended bow, Hefure nae weapon feirs. XXIX. Proud Norfe, with giant body tall, Braid moulders and arms ftrong, Cry'd, Where is Hardyknute fae fam 'd, Andfeir'd at Britain's throne ? The Britons tre?nble at his name, I foonfliall make him wail That eir my f word was made fae fliarp, Saefaft his coat of mail. XXX. That brag his flout heart could na byde, It lent him youthful might : Tm Hardyknute this day, he cry'd, To Scotland's king I height, To lay thee law as horfes hufe, My word I mean to keip ; Syne with the firft ftrake eir he flrake, He garr'd his body bleid. XXXI. Norfe een lyke gray gofehawks ftair'd wyld, He fight with fhame and fpyte ; Difgrac'd is now my far fam' d arm That left thee power to flrike: Then gave his head a blaw fae fell, It made him doun to ftoup, As law as he to ladies us'd In courtly gyfe to lout. 232 A COLLECTION XXXII. Full foon he rais'd his bent body, His bow he marvell'd fair, Sen blaws till then on him but darr'd As touch of Fairly fair : Norfe ferliet too as fair as he To fee his ftately look, Sae foon as eir he ftrake a fae, Sae foon his lyfe he took. XXXIII. Whair lyke a fyre to heather fet, Bauld Thomas did advance, A fturdy fae with look enrag'd Up towards him did prance ; He fpurr'd his fteid through thickeft rank, The hardy youth to quell, Wha flood unmov'd at his approach His fury to repell. XXXIV. ThatJJwrt brown JJiaft fae meanly trimntd Looks lyke poor Scotland's geir, But dreidful feims the rufly poy?it / And loud he leugh in jeir. Aft Briton's blude has dinim'd its fliyne, This poynt cutfliort their vaunt; Syne pierc'd the boafter's bairded cheik, Nae time he took to taunt. xxxv. Short while he in his faddle fwang, His ftirrip was nae ftay, Sae feible hang his unbent knee, Sure taken he was fey : OF CHOICE SONGS. 233 Swith on the hardned clay he fell, Right far was heard the thud, But Thomas look'd not as he lay All walt'ring in his blude. xxxvi. With cairles gefture, mynd unmov'd, On raid he north the plain, His feim in thrang of fiercefl ftryfe, When winner ay the fame : Nor yet his heart dames dipeik, Coud meife faft love to bruik, Till vengeful Ann return'd his fcorn, Then languid grew his look. XXXVII. In thrawis of death, with wailowit cheik, All panting on the plain, The fainting corpfe of warriors lay, Neir to aryfe again ; Neir to return to native land, Nae mair with blythfome founds, To boaft the glories of the day, And maw their lhyning wounds. XXXVIII. On Norway's coafl the widow'd dame May warn the rocks with teirs. May lang look owre the fhiples feis, Before hir mate appeirs. Ceife, Emma, ceife to hope in vain, Thy lord lyis in the clay, The valiant Scots nae revers thole To carry life away. 234 A COLLECTION XXXIX. There on a lie whair flands a crofs, Set up for monument, Thoufands full fierce that fummer's day Fill'd keen waris black intent. Let Scots, while Scots, praife Hardyknute ; Let Norfe the name ay dreid ; Ay how he faught, aft how he fpaird, Sal lateft ages reid. XL. Loud and chill blew weftlin wind, Sair beat the heavy fhowir, Mirk grew the night eir Hardyknute Wan neir his ftately tower ; His tower that us'd with torches bleife, To fhine fae far at night, Seim'd now as black as mourning weid, Nae mervel fair he feight. XLI. Therms nae light in my lady's bowir, There's nae light in my hall ; Nae blynk JJiyties round my Fairly fair, Nor Warp Jlands on my wall. What bodes it ? Robert, Thomas fay. Nae anfwer fits their dreid. Stand back, my fons, III be your gyde, But by they paft with fpeid. XLII. As f aft as I haef fped owre Scotland's faes, Their ceift his brag of weir, Seir fham'd to mynd ought but his dame, And maiden Fairly fair, OF CHOICE SONGS. 235 Black fear he felt, but what to fear, He wift not yet with dreid ; Sair fhook his body, fair his limbs, And all the warrior fled. ****** The Braes of Yarrow. BUSK ye, bulk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Bulk ye, bulk ye, my winfome marrow. Bulk ye, bulk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And let us leave the braes of Yarrow. Where got ye that bonny bonny bride, Where got ye that winfome marrow ? I got her where I durft not well be feen, Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winfome marrow, Nor let thy heart lament to leave Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 'a Why does fhe weep, thy bonny bonny bride 1 Why does fhe weep, thy winfome marrow ? And why dare ye nae mair well be feen Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow 1 *& Lang mufl (he weep, lang muft fhe, muft fhe weep, Lang muft fhe weep with dole and forrow, And lang muft I nae mair well be feen, Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 236 A COLLECTION For fhe has tint her lover, lover clear, Her lover dear, the caufe of forrow ; And I have flain the comelieft fwain That ever pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow. Why runs thy ftream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid % Why on thy braes heard the voice of forrow, And why yon melancholious weeds, Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood 1 What's yonder floats 1 O dole and forrow ! O 'tis the comely fwain I flew Upon the doleful braes of Yarrow. Warn, O wafh his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears of dole and forrow, And -wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, And lay him on the braes of Yarrow. Then build, then build, ye fillers, fillers fad, Ye fillers fad, his tomb with forrow, And weep around in woful wife, His helplefs fate on the braes of Yarrow. Curfe ye, curfe ye his ufelefs, ufelefs fhield, My arm that wrought the deed of forrow, The fatal fpear that pierc'd his breaft, His comely breaft on the braes of Yarrow. Did I not warn thee not to, not to love, And warn from fight, but to my forrow, Too rafhly bold, a ftronger arm Thou mett'ft, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. OF CHOICE SONGS. 237 Sweet fmells the birk, green grows, green grows the Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan, [grafs, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. Flows Yarrow fweet, as fweet, as fweet flows Tweed, As green its grafs, its gowan as yellow, As fweet fmells on its braes the birk, The apple from its rocks as mellow. Fair was thy love, fair, fair indeed thy love, In flow'ry bands thou didft him fetter ; Tho' he was fair, and well belov'd again, Than me he never lov'd thee better. Bufk ye, then bufk, my bonny bonny bride, Bufk ye, then bufk, my winfome marrow, Bufk ye, and loe me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow. How can I bufk a bonny bonny bride, How can I bufk a winfome marrow, How loe him on the banks of Tweed, That flew my love on the braes of Yarrow 1 O Yarrow fields, may never, never rain, No dew thy tender bloffoms cover, For there was vilely kill'd my love, My love as he had not been a lover. The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple veft, 'twas my awn fewing, Ah ! wretched me, I little, little knew, He was in thefe to meet his ruin. 238 A COLLECTION The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white Heed , Unheedful of my dole and forrow, But ere the toofal of the night, He lay a corpfe on the braes of Yarrow. Much I rejoic'd that woful, woful day, I fung, my voice the woods returning ; But lang ere night the fpear was flown That flew my love, and left me mourning. What can my barbarous, barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage purfue me ? My lover's blood is on thy fpear ; How canft thou, barbarous man, then woo me % My happy fifters may be, may be proud, With cruel and ungentle fcoffing, May bid me feek on Yarrow's braes My lover nail'd in his coffin. My brother Douglas may upbraid, And ftrive with threat'ning words to move me ; My lover's blood is on thy fpear ; How canft thou ever bid me love thee 1 Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, With bridal fheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the expected hufband lover. But who the expected hufband, hufband is ? His hands, methinks, are bath'd in flaughter. Ah me ! what ghaftly fpectre's yon, Comes, in his pale fhroud, bleeding after 1 OF CHOICE SONGS. 239 Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, O lay his cold head on my pillow ; Take aff, take aff thefe bridal weeds, And crown my careful head with yellow. Pale tho' thou art, yet belt, yet beft belov'd, O could my warmth to life reftore thee ; Yet ly all night between my breafts, No youth lay ever there before thee. Pale, pale indeed, O lovely, lovely youth ! Forgive, forgive fo foul a flaughter, And ly all night between my breafts, No youth fhall ever ly thereafter. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride, Return and dry thy ufelefs forrow, Thy lover heeds nought of thy fighs, He lies a corpfe on the braes of Yarrow. The end of the Second Volume. i_J < S1TY OF CALIFORNIA, LIBRARY, \L0S ANGE-LtS, CALIF. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. ■£.* "_ 2 1 JUL 2 1 39$ RECEI MAIN LOAN AUG 7 A.M. 7I8I9I10HHI2H ' > 2 7 1§ft t I :P\4\96& DESK 964 P.M. ?'3I4I5|6 E D MAIN LOAIH DESK AUG 31 A.M. 7|8|9|10111|12 1964 P.M. 112|3|4|5l6 Form L9-30m-ll,'58(8268s4)444 m DEC iW8 FEB08I98S £' HON OCT 1^987 H0^ tf>^ Qtf a c 3 1158 00410 9285 •^ UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY m A *<£• * —