Wi' sneerin behind and before him,
For sic is the mettle o' brutes,
Puir Wattie, and waes me for him,
Was fain to gang hame in his boots.

Now it was late in the e'ening,

And boughting-time was drawing near; The lasses had stanched their greening Wi' fouth o' braw apples and beer. There was Lillie, and Tibbie, and Sibbie, And Ceicy on the spinnle could spin, Stood glowrin at signs and glass winnocks, But deil a ane bade them come in.

Gude guide us! saw ye ever the like o't?
See, yonder's a bonnie black swan ;
It glow'rs as it wad fain be at us;

What's yon that it hauds in its hand?
Awa', daft gowk, cries Wattie,

They're a' but a ruckle o' sticks; See, there is Bill-Jock and auld Hawkie, And yonder's Mess John and auld Nick.

Quoth Maggie, come buy us our fairin';
And Wattie richt sleely could tell,

I think thou'rt the flower o' the clachan,-
In trowth, now, I'se gie thee mysell.
But wha wad ha' e'er thocht it o' him,
That e'er he had rippled the lint ?
Sae proud was he o' his Maggie,
Though she was baith scaulie and squint.*

From Herd's Collection, 1776.

SONG.*

TUNE-Bessy Bell and Mary Gray.

FORGIVE me if I thought your looks
Did once some change discover ;
To be too jealous is the fault
faithful lover.

Of every

My looks that keen resentment show,
Which you blame so severely;
A'sign, alas, you little know
What 'tis to love sincerely.

The torments of a long despair
I could in silence smother;
But 'tis a thing I cannot bear,
To think you love another.
My fate depends alone on you;
I am but what you make me;
Divinely blest if you prove true,
Undone if you forsake me.

SONG

IN BURLESQUE of prince CHARLES'S MANIFESTO.

HAVE

MRS COCKBURN.

TUNE-Clout the Caldron.

you any laws to mend? Or have you any grievance?

* This song, and the six songs and eight fragments which follow, are from a manuscript collection, made, during the decade of 1770-80, by a lady residing at Edinburgh. I am only permitted to mention that the compiler was an intimate friend of Mrs Catherine Cockburn, author of the later set of words to the tune of "the Flowers of the Forest," and of the burlesque on the Young Chevalier's Declaration, which immediately follows.

I am a hero to my trade,

And truly a most leal prince.

Would you have war, would you have peace,
Would you be free of taxes,
Come chapping to my father's door,
You need not doubt of access.

Religion, laws, and liberty,

Ye ken, are bonnie words, sirs:
They shall be a' made sure to you,
If you'll fecht wi' your swords, sirs.
The nation's debt we soon shall pay,
If ye'll support our right, boys;
No sooner we are brought in play
Than all things shall be tight, boys.

Ye ken that, by an Union base,
Your ancient kingdom's undone,
That a' your ladies, lords, and lairds,
Gang up and live at London.
Nae langer that we will allow,

For, crack-it goes asunder

What took sic time and pains to do;
And let the warld wonder.

I'm sure, for seven years and mair,
Ye've heard o' sad oppression;
And this is all the good ye got
By the Hanover succession.
For absolute power and popery,
Ye ken it's a' but nonsense:
I here swear to secure to you
Your liberty of conscience.

And, for

your mair encouragement, Ye shall be pardoned by-ganes; Nae mair fight on the Continent, And leave behind your dry-banes.

Then come away, and dinna stay;
What gars ye look sae landart?
I'd have ye run, and not delay
To join my father's standard !*

DEAR AND A-WALY, HINNIE.

DEAR and a-waly, hinnie,
Dear and a-waly, die,
Dear and a-waly, hinnie,

It's braw milking the kye.

I'll hae nae mair sour-milk suppers,
I'll hae nae mair lappers o' kail;
But I'll hae the bonnie young lad
That drinks the berry-brown ale.
Dear and a-waly, &c.

I'll hae nae mair sour-milk suppers,
I'll hae nae mair lappers o' whey;
But I'll hae the bonnie young lad
That's carried my heart away.
Dear and a-waly, &c.

Summer's a seemly season;
There's claver in ilka cleuch ;

Sae merrily sings the mavis;
The burn rins ower the heuch.
Dear and a-waly, &c.

Sell hawkie, minnie,

Sell hawkie, ye;

An anecdote connected with this song is printed in the Historical Essay at the beginning of the collection.

Sell hawkie, minnie,
And buy the beets to me.
Dear and a-waly, &c.

I'd rather sell my petticoat,
Though it were made o' silk,
Than sell my bonnie brown hawkie,
That gies us the wee soup milk.

LORD BINNING.*

SOME cry up little Hyndy+ for this thing and for that, And others James Dalrymple, though he be somewhat

fat;

But, of all the pretty gentlemen of whom the town do tell,

Emilius, Emilius, he bears away the bell.

Some cry up Ranting Rothes, whose face is like the

moon;

Nor Highlander nor minister can put him out of tune. But of all, &c.

Some cry up Binning's father‡ for fechting at Dunblane; But Binning says it only was for fear of being taen. But of all, &c.

*This song must be just about a century old, as the Lord Binning to whom it alludes died in 1733, at the age of twenty-four. He was a youth of the greatest promise, and the author of the song of Robin and Nanny, which is included in this collection.

†The Earl of Hyndford, British Ambassador at the court of St Petersburg.

John, sixth Earl of Haddington, who appeared as a volunteer on the King's side at the battle of Dunblane or Sheriffmuir, where he is said to have behaved with great gallantry.