I think my wife will end her life But if your wife and my wife Were in to steer the ruther ;* I think they'd ne'er come hame again, THE SOCIAL CUP. CHARLES GRAY, ESQ. TUNE-Andro and his cutty gun. THE gloamin saw us a' sit down, * Rudder. But sic a nicht we never saw. † Besides the foregoing three stanzas, there is another, which appears to belong to the same song, but cannot be placed any where as a part of it: probably some intervening stanzas are lost. The delinquent housewife herself is introduced, endeavouring to borrow linen to make shirts for her husband, and promising restitution at a period synonymous, according to all appearance, with the Greek Calends: O weel's us a' on our gudeman, For he's comed hame, Wi' a suit o' new claes; But sarkin he's got nane. Come lend to me some sarkin, Wi' a' the haste ye dow, And ye'se be weel pay'd back again, When aince I spin my tow. The auld kirk bell has chappit twal; Though time and tide should rin awa. Tut! never speir how wears the morn, Should we gang by the Auld-Kirk-Latch,* Then fill us up a social cup, And never mind the dapple dawn; THE CROOK AND PLAID. HENRY S. RIDDELL. I WINNA loe the laddie that ca's the cart and pleugh, Though he should own that tender love that's only felt by few; For he that has this bosom a' to fondest love betray'd, Is the kind and faithfu' laddie that wears the crook and plaid. At morn he climbs the mountains wild, his fleecy flock to view, When the larks sing in the heaven aboon, and the flowers wake 'mang the dew, * A haunted spot near Anstruther, in Fife, the residence of the author. When the thin mist melts afore the beam, ower gair and glen convey'd, Where the laddie loves to wander still, that wears the crook and plaid. At noon he leans him down, high on the heathy fell, When his flocks feed a' sae bonnilie below him in the dell; And there he sings o' faithful love, till the wilds around are glad ; Oh, how happy is the laddie that wears the crook and plaid ! He pu's the blooms o' heather pure, and the lily-flouir sae meek; For he weens the lily like my brow, and the heath-bell like my cheek. His words are soft and tender as the dew frae heaven shed; And nane can charm me like the lad that wears the crook and plaid. Beneath the flowery hawthorn-tree, wild growing in the glen, He meets me in the gloamin' grey, when nane on earth can ken; And leal and tender is his heart beneath the spreading shade, For weel he kens the way, I trow, to row me in his plaid. The youth o' mony riches may to his fair one ride, is laid Oh, nae wooer's like the laddie that rows me in his plaid ! To own the tales o' faithfu' love, oh, wha wad no comply? Sin' pure love gies mair o' happiness than aught aneath the sky. Where love is in the bosom thus, the heart can ne'er be sad; Sae, through life, I'll loe the laddie that wears the crook and plaid. MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING. TUNE-My wife's a wanton wee thing. My wife's a wanton wee thing, She play'd the loon ere she was married, She sell❜d her coat, and she drank it, She winna be guided by me. She mind't na when I forbade her, And a braw gude bairn was she! * * From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, vol. III. 1790. The two first stanzas, however, appear in Herd's Collection, 1776. MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. BURNS. TUNE-My wife's a wanton wee thing. SHE is a winsome wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine! I never saw a fairer, I never loo'd a dearer; And neist my heart I'll wear her, She is a winsome wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. The warld's wrack we share o't, JOHNIE'S GRAY BREEKS. TUNE-Johnie's gray breeks. WHEN I was in my se'nteen year, |