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DO THE THING WHILK I DESIRE.

Get up, gudewife, don on your claise,
And to the market make you boun,
'Tis lang time sin' your neighbours raise,
They're weel nigh gotten to the town:
See you don on your better gown,
And gar the lass big on the fire;
Dame, do not look as ye wad frown,
But do the thing whilk I desire.

I speer what haste ye hae, gudeman?
Your mither staid till ye were born;
Wad ye be at the tother cann,

To scour your throat so sune this morn ;
Gude faith, I haud it but a scorn

That ye sud wi' my rising mel;
For when ye have baith said and sworn,
I'll do but what I like mysel'.

Gudewife, we maun needs hae a care

Sae lang's we wun in neighbours' raw,

Of neighbourhood to tak' a share,

And rise up when the cock does craw;
For I have heard an old said saw,
They that rise last big on the fire,
What wind or weather so ever blaw:

Dame, do the thing whilk I desire.

Nay, do

you talk of neighbourhood,Gif I lig in my bed till noon

By nae man's shins I bake my bread,
And ye
need not reck what I hae done;
Nay, look to the clouting o' ye'r shoon,

And with my rising do not mel,
For gin ye lig baith sheets aboon,
I'll do but what I will mysel'.

Gudewife, we maun needs tak' a care
To save the geèr that we hae won,
Or lay awa baith plough and car,

And hang up Ring when all is done;
Then may our bairns a begging run,
To seek their mister in the mire,
So fair a thread as we hae spun:
Dame, do the thing that I require.

Gudeman, ye may weel a begging gang, Ye seem sae weel to bear the pock: may as

Ye

weel

gang sune as syne,

To seek your meat amang gude folk: In ilka house ye'se get a loak,

When ye come whar ye'r gossips dwell:

Nay, lo you look sae like a gouk,

I'll do but what I list mysel'.

Gudewife, ye promis'd when we were wed,
That ye wad me truly obey,
Mess John can witness what ye said,

And I'll go fetch him in this day;

And gif that haly man will say

Ye'se do the thing that I desire,
Then sal we sune end up this fray;

Dame, do the thing that I require.

I nowther care for John nor Jack,
I'll tak' my leisure at myne ease,
I care not what ye say a plack,

You may go fetch him gin ye please;
And gin ye want ane of a mease,

You may e'en fetch the deil in hell;
I wad ye wad let your japin cease,
For I'll do but what I like mysel'.

Weel, since it will nae better be,

I'll tak' my share ere a' be gane;
The warst card in my hand sal flee,
And, faith, I wat I can shift for ane:
I'll sell the plew, and wad the waine,
The greatest spender sall bear the bell;
And then, when a' the goods are gane,

Dame, do the thing ye list yoursel'.

The long resistance and open rebellion of the wifethe admonitions of her husband-his clusters of proverbs relating to household management-his wish to refer the matter to the minister, and his final despair, have all combined to render this song a very particular favourite. It belongs to the same class of compositions as the "Auld Gudeman," and "Tak your auld cloak about ye."

THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE.

This is no my ain house,

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 mistress of his fireside,

My ain house I like to guide,

And please me with the trigging o't.

Then farewell to my father's house,
I gang where love invites me;
The strictest duty this allows,

When love with honour meets me.
When Hymen moulds us into ane,
My Robie's nearer than my kin,
And to refuse him were a sin,
Sae lang's he kindly treats me.

When I am in my ain house,

True love shall be at hand ay,
To make me still a prudent spouse,
And let my man command ay;

Avoiding ilka cause of strife,
The common pest of married life,
That makes ane wearied of his wife,

And breaks the kindly band ay.

Had Ramsay adhered more closely to the idea which the old song supplies, I think he would have composed a song much superior to this. But there can be no doubt that Allan shared largely in that amiable vanity which makes a man contented with his own productions. Burns has preserved some of the old verses, and more might be added. I like the picture of rustic abundance which the first verse contains, and the rude and motherly kindness of the second:

O this is no my ain house,

My ain house, my ain house;

This is no my ain house,

I ken by the biggin o't.

There's bread an' cheese in my door cheeks,
My door cheeks, my door cheeks;
There's bread an' cheese in my door cheeks,
And pancakes on the riggin o't.

But wow! this is my ain wean,

ain wean;

My ain wean, my
But wow! this is my ain wean,

I ken by the greetie o't.
I'll take the curchie aff my head,
Aff my head, aff my head;
I'll take the curchie aff my head,

And row't about the feetie o't.

The tune is a popular hornpipe air, to which all the

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