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Fy now, Johnny, get up and rin,
The Highland bagpipes makes a din,

Its best to sleep in a hale skin,
For 'twill be a bluidy morning.

Hey, Johnny Coup, &c.

When Johnny Coup to Dunbar came,
They speir'd at him, " Whar's a' your men ?"
The deil confound me gin I ken,

For I left them a' i' the morning.
Hey, Johnny Coup, &c.

"Now, Johnny, trouth ye was na blate,
To bring the news of your ain defeat,
And leave your men in sic a strait,
So early in the morning.

Hey, Johnny Coup, &c.

dispatched an 'officer to Edinburgh, with orders for all the surgeons to at tend; which was accordingly done.

"In a subsequent paper it was said, that after the most strict enquiry, it appeared that only fourteen hundred and fifty-six of the Highland army were engaged.

"The strokes given by the Highlanders with their swords in this action evinced proofs of their strength; not only men's hands and feet were cut off, but even the legs of horses; and what many saw may be affirmed for truth, viz. that a Highland gentleman, who led up a division, after breaking through Murray's regiment, fetching a blow at a grenadier, the poor fellow naturally got up his hand over his head, and not only had his hand lopped off, but also his skull cut above an inch deep, so that he expired on the spot."-See Transactions in Scotland, during the years 1715 and 45, by G. Charles.

"Ah! faith," quo' Johnny, "I got a fleg,
Wi' their claymores and philabegs,

If I face them again, deil break my legs,
So I wish you a gude morning."
Hey, Johnny Coup, &c.

CLXXV.

YES, DEAREST MAID, I LOVE THEE STILL

Yes, dearest maid, I love thee still,

Nor would for empires e'er deceive thee;

Thro' every change of good and ill,

I'll doat upon thy charms, believe me.
Can I peruse a face so fair,

Where rival hues contend for beauty,
Or mark the smile still sporting there,
And ever think to live without thee.

Thy lips the cherry's sweets would foil-
Thy laughing eye seems so inviting,
That we must gaze, and love the while,
A maid so dear and so delighting,

Yes, gentle maid, thy powerful charms
Can bind the heart, tho' fond of changing;
One moment's bliss within thy arms

Would quell the wildest wish of ranging.

Thy kindly glance, so free of art,

And melting kiss, my chains shall rivet ;
O! once admitted to thy heart,

What fickle fool would think to leave it.
Yes, dearest maid, I love thee still,

Nor would for empires e'er deceive thee,
Thro' every change of good and ill,

I'll doat upon thy charms, believe me.

CLXXVI.

HOW EERILY, HOW DREARILY.

How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine,

When my love's in a foreign land, far frae thae arms o' mine,
Three years shae come and gane, sin' first he said to me,
That he wad be at hame wi' Jean, wi' her to live and die;
The day comes in wi' sorrow now, the night is wild and drear,
And every hour that passes by, I water wi' a tear.

I kiss my bonny baby, I clasp it to my breast,

Ah! aft wi' sic a warm embrace its father has me prest! And when I gaze upon its face, as it lies on my knee, The crystal draps out owre my cheeks will fa' frae ilka e'e. O! mony a, mony a burning tear, upon its face will fa', For, oh! its like my bonny love, and he's far awa'.

Whan the spring time had gane by, and the rose began to blaw, And the harebell and the violet adorn'd ilk bonny shaw, 'Twas then my love came courting me, and wan my youthfu'

heart,

And many a tear it cost my love, ere he could frae me part,
But tho' he's in a foreign land, far, far across the sea,
I kend my Jamie's guileless heart is faithfu' still to me.

Ye wastlin' winds, upon the main blaw wi' a steady breeze,
And waft my Jamie hame again, across the roaring seas,
O! when he clasps me in his arms, in a' his manly pride,
I'll ne'er exchange that ae embrace, for a' the warld beside,
Then blaw a steady gale, ye winds, waft him across the sea,
And bring my Jamie hame again, to his wee bairn and me,

CLXXVII.

GO, LOVELY ROSE+!

Go, lovely rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and me

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

+Edmund Waller, the author of this excellent piece of poetry, was born at Colshill, in Buckinghamshire, in 1605. He became a Member of Parliament at the early age of eighteen. In 1643, he was sent to the Tower, on a charge of conspiring to deliver the city to the King. Two persons were executed for the plot, and Waller was condemned to be hanged, but saved himself by an ab ject submission, and a liberal distribution of money. After a year's imprisonment he went into exile, but returned by favour of Cromwell, on whom he wrote an elegant panegyric. He wrote another on the death of the Protector, and afterwards celebrated the Restoration, and praised Charles II. He was again elected into Parliament, where, by his eloquence and wit, he was the delight of the House. He endeavoured to procure the Provostship of Eton, but being refused by Clarendon, he joined in the persecution of that great man. He died in 1687. His poetical pieces are easy, smooth, and generally elegant.

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