Twarra-rang, twarra-rang, went the trumpeters;
Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers;
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the
pipers ;

Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three:
And there's no a lass in a' Scotland,
Compared to sweet Marjorie.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,
And a jolly old soul was he;

Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,

And they brought him in drummers three:
Rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, went the drummers;
Twarra-rang, twarra-rang, went the trumpeters;
Twingle-twangle, twingle-twangle, went the harpers;
Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went
the pipers;

Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three:
And there's no a lass in a' the land,
Compared to sweet Marjorie.*

OVER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.

[JACOBITE SONG.]

TUNE-Over the Water to Charlie.

COME, boat me ower, come, row me ower,
Come, boat me ower to Charlie;

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee,

To ferry me ower to Charlie.

We'll over the water, and over the sea,
We'll over the water to Charlie ;

Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live and die wi' Charlie.

*From Herd's Collection, 1776.

It's weel I loe my Charlie's name,
Though some there be that abhor him;
But O, to see Auld Nick gaun hame,
And Charlie's faes before him!

I swear by moon and stars sae bricht,
And the sun that glances early,
If I had twenty thousand lives,
I'd gie them a' for Charlie.

I ance had sons, I now hae nane ;
I bred them, toiling sairly;
And I wad bear them a' again,
And lose them a' for Charlie !

THE WAEFU' HEART.

TUNE-The waefu' heart.

GIN livin' worth could win my heart,
You would not speak in vain ;
But in the darksome grave it's laid,
Never to rise again.

My waefu' heart lies low wi' his,

Whose heart was only mine;

And, oh! what a heart was that to lose-
But I maun no repine.

Yet, oh gin heaven in mercy soon
Would grant the boon I crave,
And take this life, now naething worth,
Sin' Jamie's in his grave!

And see, his gentle spirit comes,

To show me on my way;

Surprised, nae doubt, I still am here,
Sair wondering at my stay.

I

come, I come, my Jamie dear;
And, oh, wi' what gude will
I follow, wheresoe'er ye lead!
Ye canna lead to ill.

She said, and soon a deadly pale
Her faded cheek possess'd;
Her waefu' heart forgot to beat ;
Her sorrows sunk to rest.*

CUTTIE'S WEDDING.

TUNE-Cuttie's Wedding.

BUSK and go, busk and go,

Busk and go to Cuttie's wedding!
Wha wad be the lass or lad

That wadna gang an they were bidden ?

Cuttie he's a lang man,

O he'll get a little wifie;

But he'll tak on to the town loan

When she taks on her fickie-fykie.

Cuttie he cam here yestreen;

Cuttie he fell ower the midden;
He wat the house, and tint his shoon,
Courtin' at a cankert maiden.

He sat him doun upon the green,
The lass cam till him wi' ae biddin';
says, Gin ye were mine, my dame,
Monie ane's be at our weddin'.

He

* From Johnson's Musical Museum, vol. III. 1790.

Busk and go, busk and go,

Busk and go to Cuttie's wedding!
Wha wad be the lass or lad

That wadna gang an they were bidden ? *

O, AN YE WERE DEID, GUIDMAN.
TUNE-O, an ye were deid, Guidman.

O, AN ye were deid, guidman,

And a green truff on your heid, guidman,
That I micht ware my widowheid
Upon a rantin Highlandman.

There's sax eggs in the pan, guidman,
There's sax eggs in the pan, guidman ;
There's ane to you, and twa to me,
And three to our John Highlandman.

There's beef into the pot, guidman,
There's beef into the pot, guidman ;
The banes for you, and the broe for me,
And the beef for our John Highlandman.

There's sax horse in the sta', guidman,
There's sax horse in the sta', guidman ;
There's ane to you, and twa to me,
And three to our John Highlandman.

There's sax kye in the byre, guidman,
There's sax kye in the byre, guidman ;
There's nane o' them yours, but there's twa o' them
mine,

And the lave is our John Highlandman's.†

*This humorous old rant, which is sung to a very lively tune, is from Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland. Edinburgh, 1828.

+ From Herd's Collection, 1776.

MAGGIE LAUDER.*

SEMPLE.

TUNE-Maggie Lauder.

WHA wadna be in love

Wi' bonnie Maggie Lauder?
A piper met her gaun to Fife,

And spier'd what was't they ca'd her
Richt scornfully she answer'd him,
Begone, you hallanshaker ! +

Jog on your gate, you bladderskate ! ‡
My name is Maggie Lauder.

Maggie! quoth he; and, by my bags,
I'm fidgin' fain to see thee!
Sit doun by me, my bonnie bird;
In troth I winna steer thee;

For I'm a piper to my trade;

My name is Rob the Ranter:
The lasses loup as they were daft,
When I blaw up my chanter.

Piper, quo Meg, hae ye your bags,
Or is your drone in order?

"This old song, so pregnant with Scottish naiveté and energy, is much relished by all ranks, notwithstanding its broad wit and palpable allusions. Its language is a precious model of imitation; sly, sprightly, and forcibly expressive. Maggie's tongue wags out the nicknames of Rob the Piper with all the careless lightsomeness of unrestrained gaiety."-BURNS.

"Hallanshaker is what the old people call a rambling mischievous fellow; one who sods up the burns, ties the doors, and works other pranks of innocent merriment. The hallan is a bundle composed of the longest broom, entwisted with willows, placed movable to ward the wind from the door. The partition which divided the spence from the hall was frequently named the Hallan,' being formed of similar materials."-CROMEK. "Bladderskate ought to be Blether-skyte. Ye bletherin' loon,' Ye vile skyte,' are terms of familiar reproach still in use, and are innocently applied to those satiric rogues who have the art of mingling falsehood with truth with admirable art, annoying with it the sage remarks of the soberminded and wise."--IDEM.