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I think my wife will end her life : Afore she spin her tow.

But if
your

wife and my wife
Were in a boat thegither,
And
yon

other man's wife
Were in to steer the ruther ;*
And if the boat were bottomless,

And seven mile to row,
I think they'd ne'er come hame again,

To spin the pund o' tow! +

THE SOCIAL CUP.

CHARLES GRAY, ESQ.

TUNE_Andro and his cutty gun.
The gloamin saw us a' sit down,

And mickle mirth has been our fa';
But ca' the other toast aroun',
Till chanticleer begins to craw.
Blythe, blythe, and merry are we,

Blythe are we, ane and a';
Aften hae we canty been,

But sic a nicht we never saw.

# Rudder.

† Besides the foregoing three stanzas, there is another, which appears to belong to the same song, but cannot be placed any where as a part of it: probably some intervening stanzas are lost. The delinquent housewife herself is introduced, endeavouring to borrow linen to make shirts for her husband, and promising restitution at a period synonymous, according to all appearancc, with the Greek Calends :

O weel's us a' on our gudeman,

For he's comed hame,
Wi' a suit o' new claes;

But sarkin he's got nane.
Come lend to me some sarkin,

Wi' a' the haste ye dow,
And ye’se be weel pay'd back again,

When aince I spin my tow.

The auld kirk bell has chappit twal;

Wha cares though she had chappit twa !
We're licht o’ heart, and winna part,

Though time and tide should rin awa.

Tut! never speir how wears the morn,

The moon's still blinkin' i' the sky;
And, gif like her we fill our horn,

I dinna doubt we'll drink it dry.

Should we gang by the Auld-Kirk-Latch, *

Or round the haunted humlock knowe,
Auld Clootie there some chield might catch,

Or fleg us wi' a worricow !

Then fill us up a social сир,

And never mind the dapple dawn ;
Just sit a while, the sun may smile,

And light us a' across the lawn.

THE CROOK AND PLAID.

HENRY S. RIDDELL.

I WINNA loe the laddie that ca’s the cart and pleugh, Though he should own that tender love that's only

felt by few ; For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love betray'd, Is the kind and faithfu' laddie that wears the crook and

plaid.

At morn he climbs the mountains wild, his fleecy flock

to view, When the larks sing in the heaven aboon, and the

flowers wake 'mang the dew, * A haunted spot near Anstruther, in Fife, the residence of the author.

When the thin mist melts afore the beam, ower gair

and glen convey’d, Where the laddie loves to wander still, that wears the

crook and plaid.

At noon he leans him down, high on the heathy fell, When his flocks feed a' sae bonnilie below him in the

dell;

And there he sings o' faithful love, till the wilds around

are glad; Oh, how happy is the laddie that wears the crook and

plaidi

He pu's the blooms o' heather pure, and the lily-flouir

sae meek; For he weens the lily like my brow, and the heath-bell

like
my

cheek. His words are soft and tender as the dew frae heaven

shed;

And nane can charm me like the lad that wears the

crook and plaid.

Beneath the flowery hawthorn-tree, wild growing in

the glen, He meets me in the gloamin' grey, when nane on earth

can ken; And leal and tender is his heart beneath the spreading

shade, For weel he kens the way, I trow, to row me in his

plaid.

mony riches

The youth o'

may

to his fair one ride, And woo across a table his many-titled bride ; But we will woo beneath the tree, where cheek to cheek

is laidOh, nae wooer's like the laddie that rows me in his

plaid !

Toown the tales o'faithfu' love, oh, whawad no comply ? Sin' pure love gies mair o' happiness than aught aneath

the sky. Where love is in the bosom thus, the heart can ne'er

be sad; Sae, through life, I'll loe the laddie that wears the

crook and plaid.

MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING.

TUNE—My wife's a wanton wee thing.

My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing,
My wife's a wanton wee thing;

She winna be guided by me.

She play'd the loon ere she was married,
She play'd the loon ere she was married,
She play'd the loon ere she was married ;

She'll do't again ere she die !

She sell’d her coat, and she drank it,
She sell’d her coat, and she drank it,
She row'd hersell in a blanket ;

She winna be guided by me.

She mind't na when I forbade her,
She mind't na when I forbade her ;
I took a rung and I claw'd her,

And a braw gude bairn was she ! * * From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, vol. III. 1790. The two first stanzas, however, appear in Herd's Collection, 1776.

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING.

BURNS.

TUNE_My wife's a wanton wee thing.
She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o mine!

I never saw a fairer,
I never loo'd a dearer ;
And neist my heart I'll wear her,

For fear my jewel tine.

She is a winsome wee thing,
She is a handsome wee thing,
She is a bonnie wee thing,

This sweet wee wife o mine.

The warld's wrack we share o't,
The warstle and the care o't;
Wi' her I'll blythely bear it,

And think my lot divine.

JOHNIE'S GRAY BREEKS.

TUNE-Johnie's gray breeks.
WHEN I was in my

se'nteen

year,
I was baith blythe and bonnie, 0;
The lads lo'ed me baith far and near,

But I lo'ed nane but Johnie, 0 :
He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks,
He spake sae blythe and kindly, 0;

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