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be at the tother can, To scoure your
throat sae sune this morne ? Gude faith, I haud it but a scorne, That
suld with my rising mell; For when ye have baith said and sworne, I'll do but what I like mysell.
Gudewife, we maun needs have a care,
Sae lang's we wonne in neebors' rawe,
And rise up when the cocks does crawe ;
What wind or weather so ever blaw,
bed till noone, By nae man's shins I bake my breid, And ye need not reck what I have done.
Nay, look to the clooting o' your shoone, And with my rising do not mell;
For, gin ye lig baith sheets abune, I'll do but what I will mysell.
Gudewife, ye maun needs tak a care
that we hae won ; Or lye away baith plow and car,
And hang up Ring + when a' is done.
Then may our bairns a-begging run, To seek their mister | in the myre.
Sae fair a thread as we hae won! Dame, do the thing whilk I require.
Gudeman, ye may weel a-begging gang,
+ The dog.
Ye may as weel gang sune as syne,
To seek your meat amang gude folke.
In ilka house ye'll get a locke, * When
your gossips dwell. Nay, lo
luik like a gowke, I'll do but what I list mysell.
ye come whar
Gudewife, you promised, when we were wed,
That ye wad me truly obey;
And I'll go fetch him in this day :
And, gif that haly man will say, Ye’se do the thing that I desyre,
Then sall we sune end up this fray, And ye sall do what I require.
I nowther care for John nor Jacke
I'll tak my pleasure at my ease; I care not what you say a placke
Ye may go fetch him gin ye please.
And, gin ye want ane of a mease, Ye
fetch the deil frae helle; I wad you wad let your japin cease, For I'll do but what I like mysell.
Well, sin' it will nae better bee,
I'll tak my share or a' bee gane: The warst card in my hand sall flee,
And, i' faith, I wait I can shifte for ane.
I'll sell the plow, and lay to wadd the waine, And the greatest spender sall beare the bell:
And then, when all the gudes are gane, Dame, do the thing ye list yoursell.
THE HAWTHORN TREE.
TUNE-- There grows a bonnie Brier Bush.
O sweet are the blossoms o' the hawthorn tree,
Lovely is the rose in the dewy month oʻJune,
seen ; But the blythest hours I e'er enjoy'd were shared, my
love, wi' thee, In the gloamin', 'neath the bonnie bonnie hawthorn
Sweetly sang the blackbird, low in the woody glen, And fragrance sweet spread on the gale, licht ower the
dewy plain; But thy saft voice and sighing breath were sweeter far
While whispering o' love beneath the hawthorn tree.
Auld Time may wave his dusky wing, and Chance may
cast his die, And the rainbow-hues o' fatt'ring hope may darken in
the sky, Gay summer pass, and winter stalk stern ower the fro
zen lea, Nor leaf nor milky blossom deck the hawthorn treo;
But still'd maun be the pulse that wakes this glowing
heart of mine, or me nae mair the spring maun bud, nor summer
blossoms shine, And low maun be my hame, sweet maid, ere I be false
to thee, Or forget the vows I breathed beneath the hawthorn
THE POETS, WHAT FOOLS THEY'RE
TO DEAVE US.
TUNE-Fy, let us a' to the bridal.
How ilka ane's lassie's sae fine;
The neist ane you meet wi's divine !
Be't Katie, or Janet, or Jean;
Compared to the blink o' her een.
The earth an' the sea they've ransackit
For sim’lies to set off their charms;
By poets, like bumbees, in swarms.
By chiels that the truth winna tell?
To say, Lass, ye're just like your sell ?
An' then there's nae end to the evil,
For they are no deaf to the din
Daur scarce look the gate they are in !
But e'en let them be, wi' their scornin':
There's a lassie whase name I could tell;
But whisht ! I am ravin' mysell.
But he that o'ravin's convickit,
When a bonnie sweet lass he thinks on,
Than that buckled to by Mess John !
The charms o' the fair never saw,
I swear is the daftest of a'.
WHEN JOHN AND ME WERE MARRIED.
TUNE-Clean pease strae.
Our hadding was but sma',
my minnie, canker'd carline,
As far as it wad gae ;
Was clean pease strae.
Wi' working late and early,
We're come to what you see;
Sae eydent aye were we.
I'm sure you'll find it sae,