O TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE.

MR GRAHAM OF GARTMORE.

If doughty deeds my lady please,

Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm, and fast his seat,

That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,

Thy picture in my heart;
And he that bends not to thine eye,
Shall rue it to his smart.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love,

O tell me how to woo thee !
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,

Though ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,

I'll dight me in array ;
I'll tend thy chamber-door all night,

And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thine ear,

These sounds I'll strive to catch ;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,

That voice that nane can match.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,

I never broke a vow;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me;

I never loved but you.
For you

alone I ride the ring,
For

you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing

O tell me how to woo ! *

* From the Minstrels y of the Scottish Border, 1801.

I'LL GAR OUR GUDEMAN TROW.

TUNE-I'll gar our Gudeman trow.

I'll gar our gudeman trow

I'll sell the ladle,
If he winna buy to me

A bonnie side-saddle,
To ride to kirk and bridal,

And round about the town;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,

And gie my gown room !

I'll gar our gudeman trow

I'il tak the fling-strings,
If he winna buy to me

Twal bonnie gowd rings ;
Ane for ilka finger,

And twa for ilka thoom;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,

And gie my gown room !

I'll gar our gudeman trow
That I'm

gaun to die,
If he winna fee to me

Valets twa or three,
To bear my train up

frae the dirt,
And ush me through the town;
Stand about, ye fisher jauds,

And gie my gown room ! *

* First published in a little collection of old songs, entitled the BalladBook, which was printed for private distribution, at Edinburgh, in the

year 1824.

IT WAS A' FOR OUR RICHTFU' KING.

TUNE-It was a' for our richtfu' King.

It was a' for our richtfu' king,

We left fair Scotland's strand !
It was a' for our richtfu' king,

We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,

And a' is done in vain :
My love, and native land, fareweel;

For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him richt and round about
Upon the Irish shore,

his bridle-reins a shake,
With adieu for evermore, my love,
With adieu for evermore.

And gae

The sodjer frae the war returns,

The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,

Never to meet again, my love,
Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and nicht is come,

And a folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that's far awa,

The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.

LADY KEITH'S LAMENT.

[JACOBITE SONG.]

TUNE--The Boyne Water.

I MAY sit in my wee croo house,

At the rock and the reel to toil fu' dreary ; I may

think on the day that's gane, And sigh and sab till I grow weary. I ne'er could brook, I ne'er could brook,

A foreign loon to own or flatter; But I will sing a rantin' sang,

That day our king comes ower the water.

O gin I live to see the day,

That I hae begg'd, and begg'd frae Heaven, I'll fling my rock and reel away,

And dance and sing frae morn till even : For there is ane I winna name,

That comes the beingin' byke to scatter; And I'll put on my

bridal

gown,
That day our king comes ower the water.

I bae seen the gude auld day,

The day o' pride and chieftain's glory, When royal Stuarts bare the sway,

And ne'er heard tell o' Whig nor Tory. Though lyart be my locks and grey,

And eild has crook”d me down what matter ! I'll dance and sing ae other day,

The day our king comes ower the water.

A curse on dull and drawling Whig,

The whining, ranting, low deceiver,
Wi' heart sae black, and look sae big,
And canting tongue o'clish-ma-claver !

My father was a gude lord's son,

My mother was an earl's daughter ; And I'll be Lady Keith again,

That day our king comes ower the water.

I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOUN.

BURNS.

TUNE-I'll gang nae mair to yon toun. I'LL aye ca' in by yon toun,

And by yon garden green again;
I'll

aye ca' in by yon toun,
And see my bonnie Jean again.

There's nane shall ken, there's nane shall guess,

What brings me back the gate again, But she, my fairest faithfu' lass ;

And stowlins we shall meet again.

She'll wander by the aiken tree,

When trystin time draws near again ; And when her lovely form I see,

O baith, she's doubly dear again.

I'll aye ca' in by yon toun,

And by yon garden green again ;
I'll
aye

ca' in by yon toun,
And see my bonnie Jean again.

AYE WAUKING, 0.
[THE ORIGINAL SONG, FROM RECITATION.]
O I'm wet, wet,

O I'm wet and weary!
Yet fain wad I rise and rin,

If I thought I would meet my deary.