Sae merry as we twa hae been,
Sae merry as we twa hae been !
My heart it will break ere the spring,
As I think on the days that are gane.*
HAPPY'S the love which meets return,
When in soft flames souls equal burn;
But words are wanting to discover
The torments of a hopeless lover.
Ye registers of Heaven, relate,
If looking o'er the rolls of Fate,
Did there see me mark'd to marrow
you
Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow?
Ah, no her form's too heavenly fair,
Her love the gods above must share;
While mortals with despair explore her,
And at a distance due adore her.
O lovely maid! my doubts beguile,
Revive and bless me with a smile:
Alas! if not, you'll soon debar a
Sighing swain the Banks of Yarrow.
Be hush, ye fears, I'll not despair;
My Mary's tender as she's fair;
Then I'll go tell her all mine anguish ;
She is too good to let me languish :
With success crown'd, I'll not envy
The folks who dwell above the sky;
When Mary Scott's become my marrow,
We'll make a paradise on Yarrow.†
From Herd's Collection, 1776.
From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
As walking forth to view the plain,
Upon a morning early,
While May's sweet scent did cheer my brain,
From flowers which grow so rarely,
I chanced to meet a pretty maid;
She shined, though it was foggy;
I ask'd her name: sweet sir, she said,
My name is Katherine Ogie.
I stood a while, and did admire,
To see a nymph so stately;
So brisk an air there did appear,
In a country maid so neatly:
Such natural sweetness she display'd,
Like a lilie in a bogie;
Diana's self was ne'er array'd
Like this same Katherine Ogie.
Thou flower of females, beauty's queen,
Who sees thee, sure must prize thee ;
Though thou art drest in robes but mean,
Yet these cannot disguise thee:
Thy handsome air, and graceful look,
Far excels any clownish rogie;
Thou art a match for lord or duke,
My charming Katherine Ogie.
O were I but some shepherd swain !
To feed my flock beside thee,
At boughting-time to leave the plain,
In milking to abide thee;
I'd think myself a happier man,
With Kate, my club, and dogie,
Than he that hugs his thousands ten,
Had I but Katherine Ogie.
Then I'd despise the Imperial throne,
And statesmen's dangerous stations :
I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown,
I'd smile at conquering nations:
Might I caress, and still possess
This lass, of whom I'm vogie;
For these are toys, and still look less,
Compared with Katherine Ogie.
But I fear the gods have not decreed
For me so fine a creature,
Whose beauty rare makes her exceed
All other works in nature.
Clouds of despair surround my love,
That are both dark and fogie;
Pity my case, ye powers above,
Élse I die for Katherine Ogie.*
AN THOU WERE MY AIN THING.
TUNE-An thou were my ain thing.
AN thou were my ain thing,
I would lo'e thee, I would lo'e thee;
* From the Tea-Table Miscellany, (1724,) where it is printed without a mark.
There is, in Tom D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy, volume VI., a song called "Bonny Kathern Loggy," similar to "Katherine Ogie," in versification and also in incident, but much more gross, and evidently writ ten, like almost all the rest of Tom D'Urfey's Scotch Songs, by an Englishman. The first verse, as here copied verbatim et literatim from the original, will probably be sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the reader regarding it :
As I cam down by Hay Land town,
There was lasses many
Sat in a rank, on either bank,
And ane more gay than any;
Ise leekt about for ane kind face,
And Ise spy'd Willy Scroggy;
Ise speir'd of him what was her name,
And he caw'd her Kathern Loggy.
An thou were my ain thing,
How dearly would I lo'e thee!
I would clasp thee in my arms,
I'd secure thee from all harms;
For above mortal thou hast charms:
How dearly do I lo'e thee!
An thou were, &c.
Of race divine thou needs must be,
Since nothing earthly equals thee,
So I must still presumptuous be,
To show how much I lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.
The gods one thing peculiar have,
To ruin none whom they can save;
O, for their sake, support a slave,
Who only lives to lo'e thee!
An thou were, &c.
To merit I no claim can make,
But that I lo'e, and, for your sake,
What man can more, I'll undertake,
So dearly do I lo❜e thee.
An thou were, &c.
My passion, constant as the sun,
Flames stronger still, will ne'er have done,
Till fates my thread of life have spun,
Which breathing out, I'll lo'e thee.
An thou were, &c.* -A
*From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724.
TUNE Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.
CAULD kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strabogie;
Ilka lad has got his lass,
Then see gie me my cogie !
Then see gie me my cogie, sirs,
I canna want my cogie;
I wadna gie the three-gird stoup
For a' the queans in Bogie.
Johnnie Smith has got a wife,
Wha scrimps him o' his cogie;
Gin she were mine, upon my life,
I'd douk her in a bogie.
Than here's to ilka honest life,
Wha'll drink wi' me a cogie;
But as for ilka girnin' wife,
We'll douk her in a bogie.
TUNE-Cauld Kail in Aberdeen.
THERE'S cauld kail in Aberdeen,
And castocks in Strabogie; Gin I but hae a bonnie lass,
Ye're welcome to your cogie. And ye may sit up a' the night, And drink till it be braid day-light
|
