Some cry up Earl Lauderdale, though he be grim and black;

For at the battle of Sheriffmuir he never turned his back.

But of all, &c.

Some cry up pretty Polwarth* for his appearance great,
For wi' his Orange Regiment the rebels he defeat.
But of all, &c.

Some cry up the Laird o' Grant, 'cause he came foremost in;

And others wee Balgony for naething but his chin.
But of all, &c.

Some cry up our great Generalf for managing the war, Though at the battle o' Dunblane he pushed the foe too far.

But of all, &c.

I have nae skill in politics; therefore I haud my tongue; But you'll think I hae gab enough, though I be somewhat young.

But I'll tell you a secret, my fairy Binning elf,
Emilius, Emilius, I swear it is yourself!

THERE'S A LAD IN THIS TOWN HAS A FANCY FOR ME.

TUNE-The Tailor fell through the bed, thimbles and a'.

THERE's a lad in this town has a fancy for me,
There's a lad in this town has a fancy for me;

Eldest son of the Earl of Marchmont. † John, Duke of Argyle and Greenwich.

But they're nearer my heart that's farer frae me,
And he's blacker that I loe better than he.

There's better and better providing for me,
There's better and better providing for me,
There's better and better providing for me;
There's a coach and six horses a-riding for me.

THE MASON LADDIE.

TUNE-Sandy ower the lea.

LEANING Ower a window, and looking ower a mound, I spied a mason laddie, wha gave my heart a wound A wound, and a wound, and a deadly wound gave And I wad wash his apron an he wad fancy me.

he;

I winna hae the minister, for a' his many books;
I winna hae the dominie, for a' his wylie looks;
I will hae nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me;
But my bonnie mason laddie he bears awa' the gree.

I winna hae the mautman, for a' his muckle sho'el;
Nor will I hae the miller, for a' his mity meal;
I wad hae nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me;
For my bonnie mason laddie he's up the scaffold hie.

I winna hae the ploughman, that gangs at the pleuch;
Nor yet will I the chaplain, though he has gear eneuch;
I wad hae nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me;
For my bonnie mason laddie has stown the heart frae me.

I winna hae the souter, that rubs upon the shoon; Nor yet will I the weaver, that gingles on the loom ;

I wad hae nane o' thae twa, though they wad fancy me; For my bonnie mason laddie he bears awa' the gree.

The smith that canna lay an axe is no a man o' craft; The wright that canna seam a deal can scarcely lay a

laft.

The lad that canna kiss a lass is no a lad for me; But my bonnie mason laddie he can do a' the three.

GALA WATER.

TUNE-Gala Water.

OUT ower yon moss, out ower yon muir,
Out ower yon bonnie bush o' heather!
O all ye lads, whae'er ye be,

Show me the way to Gala Water.
Braw, braw lads o' Gala Water,
Bonnie lads o' Gala Water;

The Lothian lads maun ne'er compare
Wi' the braw lads o' Gala Water.

At Nettlie-flat we will begin,

And at Halltree we'll write a letter ;
We'll down by the Bower, and take a scour,
And drink to the lads o' Gala Water.

There's Blindlie and Torwoodlee,
And Galashiels is muckle better;
young Torsonce he bears the gree
Of a' the Pringles o' Gala Water.

But

Buckham is a bonnie place;

But Appletree-leaves is muckle better;

But Cockleferry bears the gree
Frae ilka laird on Gala Water.

Lords and lairds came here to woo,
And gentlemen wi' sword and dagger;
But the black-eyed lass o' Galashiels

Wad hae nane but the gree o' Gala Water.

Lothian lads are black wi' reek,

And Teviotdale lads are little better;
But she's kiltit her coats abune her knee,
And gane wi' the lad o' Gala Water.

Though corn-rigs are gude to see,

Yet flocks o' sheep are muckle better;
For oats will shake in a windy day,
When the lambs will play in Gala Water.

Adieu, sour plooms o' Galashiels,

Farewell, my father and my mother;
For I'll awa' wi' the black herd lad
Wha keeps his flocks on Gala Water.
Braw, braw lads o' Gala Water,

Bonnie lads o' Gala Water!

Let them a' say what they will,
The

gree gaes aye to Gala Water.*

If this song be (what it probably is) the first song written to the tune of Gala Water, we must conclude that the celebrity of that district of Scotland in song and music, has been entirely owing to the charms of one bonnie lass. So much may one person do for a country.

Fragments.

MAGGIE, my dow; Maggie, my dow;
John Abernethy is seeking you.
Gar steek the door, and let him stand,
Till I put on my curch o' lawn,
My curch o' lawn abune my hair;
Syne Johnie will trow that I am fair.

TUNE-New Year's Day.

I'd rather hae a piece as a kiss o' my joe,
I'd rather hae a piece as a kiss o' my joe,
I'd rather hae a piece as a kiss o' my joe,
And I'm easy whether I get him or no.

My love's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie,

My love's bonnie and fair to see;
And aye when I think on her weel-faured face,
Then in her company I would be.t

*What children and labourers in England understand by the phrase "a crust of bread," is, in Scotland, known by the abbreviated epithet, "a piece."

I have myself heard this elegant little erotic sung by an old woman at Peebles.