SHE.

As on the brier the budding rose
Still richer breathes and fairer blows,
So in my tender bosom grows
The love I bear my Willy.

HE.

The milder sun and bluer sky,
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy,
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye
As is a sight o' Philly.

SHE.

The little swallow's wanton wing,
Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring,
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring
As meeting o' my Willy.

HE.

The bee that thro' the sunny hour
Sips nectar in the opening flower,
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor,
Upon the lips o' Philly.

SHE.

The woodbine in the dewy weet

When evening shades in silence meet,

Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet

As is a kiss o' Willy.

HE.

Let fortune's wheel at random rin,
And fools may tyne, and knaves may win;
My thoughts arè a' bound up in ane,
And that's my ain dear Philly.

SHE.

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie!
I care na wealth a single flie;
The lad I love's the lad for me,
And that's my ain dear Willy.

JOHN BARLEYCORN.

A BALLAD.

THERE were three Kings into the east,
Three Kings both great and high,
And they hae sworn a solemn oath
John Barleycorn should die.

They took a plough and plough'd him down,

Put clods upon his head,

And they hae sworn a solemn oath

John Barleycorn was dead.

But the cheerfu' Spring came kindly on,

And show'rs began to fall;

John Barleycorn got up again,
And sore surpris'd them all.

The sultry suns of Summer came,
And he grew thick and strong,
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears,
That no one should him wrong.

The sober Autumn enter'd mild,
When he grew wan and pale;

His bending joints and drooping head
Show'd he began to fail.

His colour sicken'd more and more,

He faded into age;

And then his enemies began

To shew their deadly rage.

They've ta'en a weapon, long and sharp,

And cut him by the knee; Then tied him fast upon a cart,

Like a rogue for forgerie.

They laid him down upon his back,
And cudgel'd him full sore;
They hung him up before the storm,
And turn'd him o'er and o'er.

They filled up a darksome pit
With water to the brim,
They heaved in John Barleycorn,
There let him sink or swim.

They laid him out upon the floor,
To work him farther woe,
And still, as signs of life appear'd,
They toss'd him to and fro.

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame,
The marrow of his bones;

But a miller us'd him worst of all,

For he crush'd him between two stones.

And they hae ta'en his very heart's blood, And drank it round and round;

And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound.

John Barleycorn was a hero bold,
Of noble enterprise,

For if you do but taste his blood,
'Twill make your courage rise;

'Twill make a man forget his woe;
'Twill heighten all his joy :
Twill make the widow's heart to sing,
Tho' the tear were in her eye.

Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
Each man a glass in hand;
And may his great posterity
Ne'er fail in old Scotland!

CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS.

TUNE-ROY'S WIFE.'

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? Well thou know'st my aching heart, And canst thou leave me thus for pity?

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
Is this thy faithful swain's reward-
An aching, broken heart, my Katy?
Canst thou, &c.

Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy!

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear-
But not a love like mine, my Katy.
Canst thou, &c.

ON CHLORIS BEING ILL.

TUNE-AYE WAUKIN O.'

Long, long the night,
Heavy comes the morrow,
While my soul's delight

Is on her bed of sorrow.

CAN I cease to care,

Can I cease to languish,
While my darling fair

Is on the couch of anguish?
Long, &c.

Every hope is fled,

Every fear is terror;

Slumber e'en I dread,

Every dream is horror.
Long, &c.

Hear me, Pow'rs divine!

Oh, in pity hear me !

Take aught else of mine,
But my Chloris spare me!
Long, &c.