The charms o' the min', the langer they shine,
The mair admiration they draw, man;
While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies,
They fade and they wither awa, man.

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien',
A hint o' a rival or twa, man,

The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, If that wad entice her awa', man.

The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed,
For mair than a towmond or twa, man,
The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board,
If he canna get her at a', man.

Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin,
The boast of our bachelors a', man :
Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete,
She steals our affections awa, man.

If I should detail the pick and the wale
O'lasses that live here awa, man,

The fault wad be mine, if they didna shine,
The sweetest and best o' them a', man.

I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell,
My poverty keeps me in awe, man,
For making o' rhymes, and working at times,
Does little or naething at a', man,

Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse,

Nor ha'e 't in her power to say na, man, For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure, My stomach's as proud as them a', man.

Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride,
And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man,

I can haud up my head wi' the best o' the breed,
Though fluttering ever so braw, man.

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best,
O' pairs o' guid breeks I ha'e twa, man,
And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps,
And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man.

My sarks they are few, but five o' them new,
Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man,
A ten-shilling's hat, a Holland cravat;

There are no mony poets sae braw, man.

I never had frien's, weel stockit in means,
To leave me a hundred or twa, man,
Nae weel tochered aunts, to wait on their drants,
And wish them in hell for it a', man.

I never was canny for hoarding o' money,
Or claughtin't together at a', man,
I've little to spend, and naething to lend,
But deevil a shilling I awe, man.

HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA.

HERE'S a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause,

May never guid luck be their fa'!

It's guid to be merry and wise,
It's guid to be honest and true,
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause,
And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to Charlie the chief o' the clan, Altho' that his band be sma'.

May liberty meet wi' success !

May prudence protect her frae evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,

And wander their way to the devil!

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa;

Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law!

Here's freedom to him that wad read,

Here's freedom to him that wad write !

There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be

heard,

But they wham the truth wad indite.
Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's a health to them that's awa,

Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a Chieftain worth gowd,

Tho' bred among mountains o' snaw!

I'M OWRE YOUNG TO MARRY YET.

I AM my mammie's ae bairn,

Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir;

And lying in a man's bed,

I'm fley'd wad mak me eerie, Sir.

CHORUS.

I'm owre young, I'm owre young,

I'm owre young to marry yet;

I'm owre young, twad be a sin

To tak me frae my mammie yet.

My mammie coft me a new gown,
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't;
Were I to lie wi' you, kind Sir,
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't.
I'm owre young, &c.

Hallowmas is come and gane,

The nights are lang in winter, Sir;
And you an' I in ae bed,

In troth I dare na venture, Sir.
I'm owre young, &c.

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind
Blaws thro' the leafless timmer, Sir;

But if ye come this gate again,
I'll aulder be gin simmer, Sir.
I'm owre young, &c.

DAMON AND SYLVIA.

TUNE-THE TITHER MORN, AS I FORLORN.'

YON wand'ring rill, that marks the hill,
And glances o'er the brae, Sir:
Slides by a bower where monie a flower
Sheds fragrance on the day, Sir.
There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay:
To love they thought nae crime, Sir;
The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang,
While Damon's heart beat time, Sir.

MY LADY'S GOWN THERE'S GAIRS

UPON'T.

CHORUS.

My lady's gown there's gairs upon't
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't;
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet,
My lord thinks muckle mair upon't.

My lord a-hunting he is gane,

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane,
By Colin's cottage lies his game,

If Colin's Jenny be at hame.
My lady's gown, &c.

My lady's white, my lady's red,
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude,
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed.
My lady's gown, &c.

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss,
Whare gor-cocks thro' the heather pass,
There wons auld Colin's bonie lass,
A lily in a wilderness.

My lady's gown, &c.

Sae sweetly move her genty limbs,
Like music notes o' lover's hymns:
The diamond dew in her een sae blue,
Where laughing love sae wanton swims.
My lady's gown, &c.