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O' sottish loons ye're the pink and pearl, pink and pear
Ill-far'd, doited ne'er-do-weel.
Hech, gudewife! ye're a flyting body, flyting body: Will ye hae; but, guid be praised, the wit ye want. The puttin' cow should be aye a doddy, aye a doddy.
Mak na sic an awsome reel.
Ye're a sow, auld man :
To your wame, auld man:
It's a lie, gudewife,
Ye spend a', gudewife.
Ye like the drap fu' weel yoursell,
Deil a drap wad weet my mou'. Troth, gudewife, an' ye wadna swither, wadna swither, Soon to tak a cholic, when it brings a drap o' cappy: But twascore years we hae fought thegither, fought
thegither ; Time it is to gree,
We hae fought, gude John;
Ye're richt, gude Kate;
We'll sup, gude Kate;
AGAIN REJOICING NATURE SEES.
TUNE-Johnnie's Grey Breeks. AGAIN rejoicing nature sees
Her robe assume its vernal hues ; Her leafy locks wave in the breeze,
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.
In vain to me the cowslips blaw;
In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.
The merry ploughboy cheers his team ;
Wi' joy the tentie seedman stauks ; But life to me's a weary dream,
A dream of ane that never wauks.
The wanton coot the water skims;
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry; The stately swan majestic swims;
And every thing is blest but I.
The shepherd steeks his faulding slaps,
And o'er the moorland whistles shrill; Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step,
I meet him on the dewy hill.
And when the lark, 'tween light and dark,
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side,
And mounts and sings on fluttering wings,
A woe-worn ghaist, I hameward glide.
And raging bend the naked tree;
A WEARY LOT IS THINE.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid,
lot is thine !
And press the rue for wine.
A feather of the blue,
This morn is merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain ;
Ere we two meet again.
Upon the river shore ;
* In most editions of the author's works, this fine song is printed with the following absurd chorus, which was part of a song written by one of his friends:
And maun I still on Menie doat,
And bear the scorn that's in her ee?'
And winna let a bodie be.
FARE YE WEEL, MY AULD WIFE.
AND fare ye weel, my auld wife;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum;
Wi' some, some, some.
And fare ye weel, my pike-staff;
Sing bum, bee, berry, bum : Fare ye weel, my pike-staff ;
Sing bum, bum, bum. Fare ye weel, my pike-staff, Wi'
wife I'll baff; The maut's abune the meal the nicht,
Wi' some, smoe, some.*
you nae mair
O FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAM.
TUNE-The Mowdiwart. And oh, for ane and twenty, Tam!
And hey for ane and twenty, Tam! I'll learn my
They snool me sair, and haud me down,
And gar me look like bluntie, Tam ! But three short years will soon wheel roun',
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam.
* From Lawrie and Symington's Collection, 1792.
A gleib o' lan', a claut o'
Gin I saw ane and twenty, Tam.
They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof,
Though I mysell hae plenty, Tam;
I'm thine gin ane and twenty, Tam.
ALAS, MY SON, YOU LITTLE KNOW.
MISS JENNY GRAHAM.
TUNE—Bide ye yct.
Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet,
Your experience is but small,
Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel,
When I, like you, was young and free,
I valued not the proudest she; * A maiden lady, who died at an advanced age, at Dumfries, towards the close of the last century.