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TUNE-A Cock-Laird.

A COCK-LAIRD, fou cadgie,

Wi' Jennie did meet;
He hawsed, he kiss'd her,

And ca'd her his sweet.
Wilt thou gae alang wi' me,

Jennie, Jennie ?
Thou'se be my ain lemmane,

Jo Jennie, quo' he.

If I gae alang wi' thee,

Ye maunna fail
To feast me wi' caddels

And guid hackit kail.
What needs a' this vanity,

Jennie ? quo' he;
Is na bannocks and dribly-beards +

Guid meat for thee ?

Gin I gang alang wi' you,

I maun hae a silk hood,
A kirtle-sark, wyliecoat,

And a silk snood,
To tie up my hair in

A cockernonie.

gane wud, I trow,
Jennie ! quo' he.

awa, thou's

Gin ye'd hae me look bonnie,

And shine like the moon,

period generally assigned to the composition is 1710, when Forbes was a very young man. The woods around Kilravock house are said to have been the favourite resort of this interesting pair. * Such is the epithet usually given in Scotland to a very small proprietor.

Otherwise laber-beards; i. e. long stripy pieces of the herb called kail, which, on being raised by the spoon from a plate of broth, generally beslabber [Scottice, laber,] the chin of the individual who is supping them.

I maun hae katlets and patlets,

And cam'rel-heel'd shoon;
Wi' craig-claiths and lug-babs, *

And rings twa or three.
Hout, the deil's in your vanity,
Jennie !



And I maun bae pinners,

With pearlins set roun',
A skirt o' the puady, t

And a waistcoat o' brown.
Awa wi' sic vanities,

Jennie, quo' he,
For curches and kirtles

Are fitter for thee.

My lairdship can yield me

As muckle a-year,
As haud us in pottage

And guid knockit bear ;
But, havin' nae tenants,

Oh, Jennie, Jennie,
To buy ought I de'er have

A penny, quo' he.

The borrowstown merchants

Will sell ye on tick;
For we maun bae braw things,

Although they should break :
When broken, frae care

The fools are set free,
When we mak' them lairds

In the Abbey, I quo she.
Cloths for the throat, and rings for the ears.
Probably paduasoy.

Abbey-laird is a 'cant phrase for the unfortunate persons who are obliged to elude the prosecutions of their creditors, by taking refuge in the well-known Sanctuary of the Abbey of Holyrood.

$ The version here given of “ the Cock-Laird” is partly from the Orpheus Caledonius, (1733,) and partly from a more recent copy.



GREENWICH-[Born 1678—DIED 1743.]

TUNE-Bannocks o' Barley Meal. Argyle is my name, and you may think it strange, To live at a court, yet never to change; A’ falsehood and flattery I do disdain, In my secret thoughts nae guile does remain. My king and my country's foes I have faced, In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced ; I do every thing for my country's weal, And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

I will quickly lay down my sword and my gun,
And put my blue bonnet and my plaidie on;
With my silk tartan hose, and leather-heel'd shoon,
And then I will look like a sprightly loon.
And when I'm sae dress'd frae tap to tae,
To meet my dear Maggie I vow I will gae,
Wi' target and hanger hung down to my heel ;
And I'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

I'll buy a rich garment to gie to my dear,
A ribbon o' green for Maggie to wear ;
And mony thing brawer than that, I declare,
Gin she will gang wi' me to Paisley fair.
And when we are married, I'll keep her a cow,
And Maggie will milk when I gae to plow;
We'll live a' the winter on beef and lang kail,
And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

Gin Maggie should chance to bring me a son, He'h fight for his king, as his daddy has done ; He'll hie him to Flanders, some breeding to learn, And then hame to Scotland, and get him a farm.

And there we will live by our industry,
And wha’ll be sae happy as Maggie and me?
We'll a' grow as fat as a Norway seal,
Wi' our feasting on bannocks o’barley meal.
Then fare ye weel, citizens, noisy men,
Wha jolt in your coaches to Drury Lane ;
Ye bucks o' Bear-garden, I bid ye adieu ;
For drinking and swearing, I leave it to you.
I'm fairly resolved for a country life,
And nae langer will live in hurry and strife ;
I'll aff to the Highlands as hard's I can reel,
And whang at the bannocks o' barley meal.*


TUNE-My Wife has ta'en the Gee.

A FRIEND o' mine cam here yestreen,

And he wad hae me down
To drink a bottle o' ale wi' him

In the neist burrows town:
But oh, indeed, it was, sir,

Sae far the waur for me;
For, lang or e'er that I cam hame,

My wife had tane the gee.
We sat sae late, and drank sae stout,

The truth I tell to you,
That, lang or e'er the midnicht cam,

We a' were roarin' fou.
My wife sits at the fireside,

And the tear blinds aye
The ne'er a bed wad she gang to,

But sit and tak’ the gee.

her ee;

* From Herd's Collection, 1776. Another conjecture or tradition gives this song to James Boswell.

In the mornin' sune, when I cam doun,

The ne'er a word she spake ;
But mony a sad and sour look,

her head she'd shake. My dear, quoth I, what aileth thee,

To look sae sour on me? I'll never do the like again,

If you'll ne'er tak the gee.

When that she heard, she ran, she flang

Her arms about my neck; And twenty kisses, in a crack;

And, poor wee thing, she grat. If you'll ne'er do the like again,

But bide at bame wi' me, I'll lay my life, I'll be the wife

That never taks the gee.*



TUNE_The Bonnie Lass O' Branksome.

As I cam in by Teviot side,

And by the braes of Branksome, There first I saw my bonny bride,

Young, smiling, sweet, and handsome.
Her skin was safter than the down,

And white as alabaster;
Her hair, a shining, waving brown;

In straightness nane surpass'd her.

Life glow'd upon her lip and cheek,

Her clear een were surprising, And beautifully turn'd her neck,

Her little breasts just rising :

* From Herd's Collection, 1776.

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