O, bonnie Mary Hay, it is haliday to me, There's nae clouds in the lift, nor storms in the sky, O, bonnie Mary Hay, thou mauna say me nay, BEHAVE YOURSELL BEFORE FOLK. TUNE-Good morning to your night-cap. BEHAVE yoursell before folk, Consider, lad, how folks will crack, I'm sure wi' you I've been as free, From an amusing series of Scottish traditionary stories, entitled "Tales of my Grandmother," 1825. Sie freedom used before folk. It Ye tell me that my face is fair; my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, Ye tell me that my lips are sweet; To prie their sweets before folk. Gin that's the case, there's time and place, But gin ye really do insist That I should suffer to be kiss'd, Gae get a license frae the priest, And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane, Ye THE BONNETS OF BONNIE DUNDEE. SIR WALTER SCOTT. To the Lords of Convention, 'twas Clavers who spoke, broke, 1 So each cavalier, who loves honour and me, Come, fill up my cup, come, fill up my can, Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street; Come, fill up, &c. As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Thinking-Luck to thy bonnet, thou bonnie Dundee ! With sour-featured saints the Grassmarket was panged, As if half of the west had set tryste to be hanged; There was spite in each face, there was fear in each ee, As they watched for the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. Come, fill up, &c. The cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway left free, At a toss of the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. Come, fill up, He spurred to the foot of the high castle rock, Let Mons Meg and her marrows three volleys let flee, Come, fill up, &c. The Gordon has asked of him whither he goesWheresoever shall guide me the soul of Montrose; Your Grace in short space shall have tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. Come, fill up, &c. There are hills beyond Pentland, and streams beyond Forth; If there's lords in the Southland, there's chiefs in the North; There are wild dunnie wassals three thousand times three Will cry Hoigh! for the bonnet of bonnie Dundee. Come, fill up, &c. Away to the hills, to the woods, to the rocks, He waved his proud arm, and the trumpets were blown, Come, fill up my cup, come, fill up my can, * From an elegant little work entitled "The Christmas-Box for 1828." An thou were my ain thing, 249 272 244 Arouse, arouse, each kilted clan, Argyle is my name, and ye may think it strange, As I cam in by Teviot side, 3 234 6 As I cam down the Canongate, 9 As I gaed down by Tweedside, 10 As walking forth to view the plain, 243 As I cam by Loch Erroch side, 247 As late by a sodger I happened to pass, 248 As Patie cam in frae the dale, At Polwarth on the green, 21 At setting sun and rising morn, |