MY DEARIE, IF THOU DEE.

CRAWFORD.

TUNE-My dearie, if thou dee.

Love never more shall give me pain,
My fancy's fix'd on thee;
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain,
My Peggie, if thou dee.

Thy beauties did such pleasure give,
Thy love's so true to me;
Without thee I shall never live,
My dearie, if thou dee.

If fate shall tear thee from my breast,
How shall I lonely stray!

In dreary dreams the night I'll waste,
In sighs the silent day.

I ne'er can so much virtue find,
Nor such perfection see:

Then I'll renounce all womankind,
My Peggie, after thee.

No new-blown beauty fires my heart,
With Cupid's raving rage;

But thine, which can such sweets impart,
Must all the world engage.
'Twas this that, like the morning sun,

Gave joy and life to me;

And, when its destined day is done,
With Peggie let me dee.

Ye

powers that smile on virtuous love,
And in such pleasures share,

Ye who its faithful flames approve,
With pity view the fair:

Restore my Peggie's wonted charms,

Those charms so dear to me;

Oh, never rob them from those arms-
I'm lost if Peggie dee! *

LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER.

BURNS.

TUNE-The Lothian Lassie.

LAST May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen, And sair wi' his love he did deave me ;

I said there was naething I hated like men :

The deuce gae wi' him to believe me, believe me, The deuce gae wi' him to believe me!

He spak' o' the darts o' my bonnie black een,
And vow'd for my love he was deein'.
I said he micht dee when he liked for Jean;
The guid forgi'e me for leein', for leein',
The guid forgi'e me for leein' !

A weel-stockit mailin', himsell for the laird,
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffer.
I never loot on that I kenn'd it or cared;

But thocht I micht hae a waur offer, waur offer,
But thocht I micht hae a waur offer.

But, what wad ye think, in a fortnicht or less,—
The deil's in his taste to gang near her!-

He

up the lang loan to my black cousin BessGuess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her, could bear

her,

Guess ye how, the jaud! I could bear her!

But a' the neist week, as I fretted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock ;

And wha but my braw fickle wooer was there?
Wha glowr'd as he had seen a warlock, a warlock,
Wha glowr'd as he had seen a warlock.

From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.

Out ower my left shouther I gi'ed him a blink,
Lest neebors micht say I was saucy;
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie,
And vow'd I was his dear lassie.

I speir'd for my cousin, fou couthie and sweet,
Gin she had recover'd her hearin'?

And how my auld shoon fitted her shauchled feet?*
Gude sauf us! how he fell a-swearin', a-swearin',
Gude sauf us! how he fell a-swearin'.

He begged, for gudesake! I wad be his wife,
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow;

Sae, e'en to preserve the puir body in life,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.

BURNS.

TUNE-Rothiemurchus' Rant.

LASSIE wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tend the flocks?
Wilt thou be my dearie, O?

Now Nature cleads the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee
O, wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou❜lt be my dearie, O?
Lassie wi', &c.

* In Scotland, when a cast-off lover pays his addresses to a new mistress, that new mistress is said to have got the auld shoon (old shoes) of the former one. Here the metaphor is made to carry an extremely ingenious sarcasm at the clumsiness of the new mistress's person.

P

And when the welcome simmer shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower,
At sultry noon, my dearie, O.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Through yellow-waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie, O.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest,
Enclasped to my faithful breast,

I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O.

I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.

THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee,
Be govern'd by no other sway
But purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
I'll call a synod in my heart,
And never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all,

But I will reign, and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe :
But 'gainst my batt'ries, if I find
Thou storm, or vex me sore,
As if thou set me as a blind,
I'll never love thee more.

And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part,
Or dare to share with me;
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways,
As ne'er was known before;
I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and more.*

GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO
LONGMARSTON MOOR.

MARCH, march, why the deil dinna ye march? Stand to your arms, my lads; fight in good order. Front about, ye musketeers all,

Till ye come to the English Border.

The earliest publication, in which I have observed this beautiful poem in print, is Watson's "Collection of Scots Poems," Part III. 1711.