But she, with accents all divine,
Did my fond suit reprove;
And while she chid my rash design,
She but inflamed my love.
Her beauty oft had pleased before,
While her bright eyes did roll;
But virtue had the very power
To charm my very soul.

Then who would cruelly deceive,
Or from such beauty part?
I loved her so, I could not leave
The charmer of my heart.
My eager fondness I obey'd,

Resolved she should be mine,
Till Hymen to my arms convey'd
My treasure so divine.

Now, happy in my Nelly's love,
Transporting is my joy;
No greater blessing can I prove,
So blest a man am I :
For beauty may a while retain
The conquer'd flutt'ring heart;
But virtue only is the chain,
Holds, never to depart.*

THE WEE WIFIKIE.

DR A. GEDDES.

TUNE-The wee bit Wifikie.

THERE was a wee bit wifikie was comin' frae the fair,
Had got a wee bit drappikie, that bred her muckle care;
It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew :
O quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou.

I wish I binna fou, I wish I binna fou,
O! quo' the wifikie, I wish I binna fou.

* Altered from the original, which appeared in the Tea-Table Miscel lany, 1724.

If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my

skin;

But I'll lie doun and tak a nap before that I gae in.
Sittin' at the dyke-side, and takin' o' her nap,
By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack.
Wi' a little pack, quo' she, wi' a little pack,
By cam a packman laddie, wi' a little pack.

He's clippit a' her gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae lang ;*

He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa he

ran:

And when the wifie wakened, her head was like a bee, Oh! quo' the wifikie, this is nae me.

This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me;

Somebody has been fellin' me, and this is nae me.

I met wi' kindly company, and birl'd my bawbee ! And still, if this be Bessikie, three placks remain wi'

me:

And I will look the pursie neuks, see gin the cunyie

be;

There's neither purse nor plack about me! This is nae

me.

This is nae me, &c.

I have a little housikie, but and a kindly man ;

A dog, they ca' him Doussikie; if this be me, he'll

fawn;

And Johnnie he'll come to the door, and kindly wel

come gie,

And a' the bairns on the floor-head will dance, if this be me.

Will dance, if this be me, &c.

*During the last century, when borrowed locks were fashionable, pedlars used to buy hair from persons in humble life throughout the country, to be disposed of again to peruke-makers in large towns, for the purpose of being converted into wigs for fine ladies and gentlemen. I have been informed by an aged relative, that a particular individual, who lived about a hundred years ago at Peebles, used to get a guinea every year from a "travelling merchant," or pedlar, for her hair, which was of a particularly fine golden colour. Thus, the pedlar in the song was only prosecuting part of his calling, when he clipped all Bessikie's "gowden locks, sae bonnie and sae lang."

The nicht was late, and dang out weet, and oh, but it was dark;

The doggie heard a body's fit, and he began to bark: O, when she heard the doggie bark, and kennin' it was he,

O, weel ken ye, Doussikie, quo' she, this is nae me. This is nae me, &c.

When Johnnie heard his Bessie's word, fast to the door he ran:

Is that you, Bessikie ?-Wow, na, man !

Be kind to the bairns a', and weil mat ye be;
And fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me.
This is nae me, &c.

John ran to the minister; his hair stood a' on end:
I've gotten sic a fricht, sir, I fear I'll never mend;
My wife's come hame without a head, crying out most
piteouslie :

Oh, fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me!
This is nae me, &c.

The tale you tell, the parson said, is wonderful to me, How that a wife without a head should speak, or hear, or see!

But things that happen hereabout so strangely alter'd be, That I could maist wi' Bessie say, 'Tis neither you nor she! *

Neither you nor she, quo' he, neither you nor she; Wow, na, Johnnie man, 'tis neither you nor she.

Now Johnnie he cam hame again, and wow, but he was fain,

To see his little Bessikie come to hersell again.
He got her sittin' on a stool, wi' Tibbock on her knee:
O come awa, Johnnie, quo' she, come awa to me;
For I've got a drap wi' Tibbikie, and this is now me.
This is now me, quo' she, this is now me;
I've got a drap wi' Tibbikie, and this is now me.

A Jacobite allusion, probably to the change of the Stuart for the Brunswick dynasty, in 1714.

KATE OF ABERDEEN.

CUNNINGHAM.

TUNE-Kate of Aberdeen.

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam
Steals softly through the night,
To wanton with the winding stream,
And kiss reflected light.

To beds of state go, balmy sleep,
('Tis where you've seldom been,)
May's vigils while the shepherds keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,

Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,

The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant or so fair
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid I love :
And see the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green;

Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,

Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love:

For see the rosy May draws nigh,

She claims a virgin queen;

And hark, the happy shepherds cry,

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.*

*From Mr Cromek's Select Scottish Songs, 2 vols. 1810. Cunningham, the author of the song, was a poor player in the north of England, and died about forty years ago.

THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE.

BURNS.

TUNE-The Lass of Ballochmyle.

'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,
On ilka blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang;

All nature list ning seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy;
When, musing in a lonely glade,

A maiden fair I chanced to spy:
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like Nature's vernal smile ;
The lily's hue, and rose's dye,

Bespake the lass o' Ballochmyle.

Fair is the morn in flowery May,

And sweet is night in Autumn mild,
When roving through the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild;
But woman, Nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile ;
Even there her other works are foil'd,
By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Oh, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Though shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotland's plain !
Through weary winter's wind and rain,
With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep, Where fame and honours lofty shine;