Far frae the noisy scene,

I'll through the fields alane; There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean ! down by yon

burn-side.

LUCKY NANSY,

MODERNISED BY LORD PRESIDENT FORBES.

TUNE—Dainty Davie.

While fops, in saft Italian verse,
Ilk fair ane's een and breist rehearse;
While sangs abound, and wit is scarce,

These lines I have indited :
But neither darts nor arrows, here,
Venus nor Cupid, shall appear ;
Although with these fine sounds, I swear,
The maidens are delighted.
I was aye telling you,

Lucky Nansy, Lucky Nansy,
Auld springs wad ding the new,
But
ye

wad never trow me.

Nor snaw with crimson will I mix,
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks;
And syne the unmeaning name prefix,

Miranda, Cloe, Phillis ;
I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove,
My height of ecstasy to prove,
Nor sigbing—thus-present my love

With roses eke and lilies.

But, stay-I had amaist forgot
My mistress, and my sang to boot,
And that's an unco faut, I wot;

But, Nansy, 'tis nae matter :
Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme,
And ken

ye

that atones the crime; Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime,

And glide away like water !

Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair,
Thy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair,
Thy half-shut een, and hoddling air,

Are a' my passion's fuel;
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see,
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee;
Yet thou hast charms enew for me ;
Then smile, and be na cruel.
Leeze me on thy snawy pow,

Lucky Nansy, Lucky Nansy ;
Dryest wood will eithest low,

And, Nansy, sae will ye now.

to you,

Troth, I bave

sung
the

sang
Which ne'er anither bard' wad do ;
Hear, then, my charitable vow,

Dear venerable Nansy :
But, if the world my passion wrang,
And say ye only live in sang,
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue,
And sing to please my fancy.

Leeze me on, &c.*

OLD KING COUL.

Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,

And a jolly old soul was he ;
And old King Coul he had a brown bowl,

And they brought him in fiddlers three;
And every fiddler was a very good fiddler,

And a very good fiddler was he: Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three : And there's no a lass in a' Scotland,

Compared to our 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 pipers three :

* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.

Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the

pipers three; Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three : And there's no a lass in a' the land,

Compared to our sweet Marjorie.
Old King Coul was a jolly old soul,

And a jolly old soul was be ;
Old King Coul, he had a brown bowl,

And they brought him in harpers three:
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 our 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 trumpeters three : 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.*

* From Herd's Collection, 1776.

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

sea, We'll over the water to Charlie ; Come weel, come woe, we'll gather and go,

And live and die wi' Charlie.

over the

Charlie's name,

It's weel I loe

my 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 bis 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 I

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;

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