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I'll lay me there and tak my rest :

And, if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,

And beg her not to drop a tear.
Hae I a joy ? it's a' ber ain !

United still her heart and mine;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,

That's twined till death shall them disjoin.



TUNE-Todlin hame.

WHEN white was my o'erlay as foam o' the linn,
And siller was clinkin' my pouches within ;

my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae ; As I gaed to my love in new cleeding sae gay,

Kind was she,

friends were free:
But poverty parts gude companie.

How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of delight!
The piper play'd cheerly, the crusie burn'd bright;
And link'd in my hand was the maiden sae dear,
As she footed the floor in her holiday gear.

Woe is me,

And can it then be,
That poverty parts sic companie !

We met at the fair, we met at the kirk,
We met in the sunshine, and met in the mirk;
And the sounds of her voice, and the blinks of her een,
The cheering and life of my bosom have been.

Leaves frae the tree
At Martinmas flee;

And poverty parts sweet companie.
At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' pride;
The bruse I hae won, and a kiss o' the bride ;

And loud was the laughter gay fellows among,
When I utter'd my banter and chorus'd my song.

Dowie to dree
Are jesting and glee,
When poverty parts gude companie.

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Wherever I gaed the blythe lasses smiled sweet,
And mithers and aunties were mair than discreet,
While kebbuck and bicker were set on the board ;
But now they pass by me, and never a word.

So let it be,
For the worldly and slie
Wi' poverty keep nae companie.*



TUNE-Willie was a wanton Wag.
WILLIE was a wanton wag,

The blythest lad that e'er I saw :
At bridals still he bore the brag,
And carried


gree awa.
His doublet was of Zetland shag,

And wow but Willie he was braw;
And at his shouthers hung a tag

That pleased the lasses best of a'.

He was a man without a clag;

His heart was frank, without a flaw;
And aye whatever Willie said,

It still was hadden as a law.

* I have thought it advisable to degrade the final stanza of this excellent song he bottom of the page, from conviction, in which nine out of ten readers will join me, that it can only spoil the fine effect of its predecessors. It is as follows:

But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart;
The spaewife has tauld me to keep up my heart;
For wi' my last sixpence

her loof

I hae cross'd,
And the bliss that is fated can never be lost;

Cruelly though we
Ilka day see
How poverty parts good companie.

His boots they were made of the jag,

When he went to the weapon-shaw;
Upon the green nane durst him brag,

The fient a ane amang them a'.

And was not Willie weel worth gowd ?

He wan the love o' grit and sma';
For, after he the bride had kiss'd,

He kiss'd the lasses baill-sale a'.
Sae merrily round the ring they row'd,

When by the hand he led them a';
And smack on smack on them bestow'd,

By virtue of a standing law.

And was na Willie a great loun,

As shyre a lick as e'er was seen ?
When he danced with the lasses round,

The bridegroom spier'd where he had been.
Quoth Willie, I've been at the ring ;

Wi' bobbin', faith, my shanks are sair ;
Gae ca' the bride and maidens in,

For Willie he dow do na mair.

Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out,

And for a wee fill up the ring ;
But shame licht on his souple snout !

He wanted Willie's wanton fling
Then straight he to the bride did fare,

Says, Weel's me on your bonny face !
With bobbin' Willie's shanks are sair,

And I am come to fill his place.

Bridegroom, says she, you'll spoil the dance,

And at the ring you'll aye be lag,
Unless like Willie ye advance;

Oh, Willie has a wanton leg !
For wi't be learns us a' to steer,
And foremost



the ring; We will find nae sic dancin' here,

If we want Willie's wanton fling. *

* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. As it is there signed by the initials of the author, there arises a presumption that he was alive, and a friend of Ramsay, at the period of the publication of that work.


TUNE-The Auld Man's Mear's dead.

The auld man's mear's dead;
The puir body's mear's dead;
The auld man's mear's dead,

A mile aboon Dundee.

There was hay to ca', and lint to lead,
A hunder hotts o' muck to spread,
And peats and truffs and a' to lead

And yet the jaud to dee!

She had the fiercie and the fleuk,
The wheezloch and the wanton yeuk ;
On ilka knee she had a breuk-

What ail'd the beast to dee?

She was lang-tooth'd and blench-lippit,
Heam-bough'd and haggis-fittit,
Lang-neckit, chandler-chaftit,

And yet the jaud to dee I*

* The late Rev. Mr C minister of the parish of Borthwick, near Edinburgh, (who was so enthusiastically fond of singing Scottish songs, that he used to hang his watch round the candle on Sunday evenings, and wait anxiously till the conjunction of the hands at 12 o'clock permitted him to break out in one of his favourite ditties,) was noted for the admirable manner in which he sung “ Bonny Dundee,” “Waly, waly, up yon bank,"

," " The Auld Man's Mcar's dead,” with many other old Scottish ditties. One day, happening to meet with some friends at a tavern in Dalkeith, he was solicited to favour the company with the latter humorous ditty; which he was accordingly singing with his usual effect and brilliancy, when the woman who kept the house thrust her head in at the door, and added, at the conclusion of one of the choruses, “ Od, the auld man's mear's dead, sure eneuch. Your horse, minister, has hanged itsell at my door.". Such was really the fact. The minister, on going into the house, had tied his horse by a rope to a hook, or ring, near the door, and as he was induced to stay much longer than he intended, the poor animal, either through exhaustion, or a sudden fit of disease, fell down, and was strangled. He was so much mortified by this unhappy accident, the coincidence of which with the subject of his song was not a little striking, that, all his life after, he could never be persuaded to sing “ The Auld Man's Mear's dead" again.


TUNE_The Blathrie o't.

WHEN I think on this warld's pelf,
And how little o't I hae to myself,
I sich and look doun on my thread-bare coat;
Yet, the shame tak the gear and the baigrie o't!

Johnnie was the lad that held the pleuch,
But now he has gowd and gear eneuch ;
I mind weil the day when he was na worth a groat-
And the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't !

Jenny was the lassie that muckit the byre,
But now she


in her silken attire; And she was a lass wha wore a plaiden coatO, the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't!

Yet a' this shall never danton me,
Sae lang as I keep my fancy free ;
While I've but a penny to pay the t'other pot,
May the shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't! +



TUNE- The Blue Bells of Scotland. O WHERE, and O where, does your Highland laddie

dwell? Owhere, and where, does your Highland laddie dwell? He dwells in merry Scotland, where the blue-bells

sweetly smell, And oh, in my heart I love my laddie well.

* “Shame fa' the gear and the baigrie o't,” says Kelly, " is spoken when a young handsome girl marries an old man on account of his wealth." The

phrase, however, seems here used in a still more illiberal sense. | From Herd's Collection, 1776.

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