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Gin ye had been whare I ha'e been,

Ye wadna been sae wantin'; I gat the lang girdin o't,

An' I fell thro' the gantrin. O'er the hills and far away,

My bonnie winsome Willie; Whare shall our gudeman lye? The gleed Earl of Kelly.

Dirum dum, &c.

Toddle but, and toddle ben,

Hey, Tam Brandy;
Crack a louse on Maggy's wean,

Little Cocky Bendy.
There's three sheep's skins,

The barber and his bason;
The bonnie lass o' Patie's Mill,
Wi' the free and accepted mason.

Dirum dum, &c.
On Ettrick banks, ae simmer night,

The cliffy rocks in view, man, Kath'rine Ogie gat a fright,

'Mang Scotland's bells sae blue, man. O waly, waly, up yon wood,

And down by bonnie Yarrow, The lassie lost her silken snood Wi' Will her winsome marrow.

Dirum dum, &c. Stately stapt he east the wa',

The lad I darena name, man ; Geordie reigns in Charlie's ha';

Send Lewie Gordon hame, man; In winter when the rain rain'd cauld,

Will brew'd a peck o' maut, man; John Anderson, ye're growing auld, Pit a sheep's head i' the pat, man,

Dirum dum, &c.

The tailor cam to clout the claise

Upon a Lammas night, man, Which caus'd the battle o' the fleas,

And shaw'd M'Craw's great might, man; John Tamson at the key-hole keeks,

My wife's a wanton pawky,
She's clouting Johnny's grey breeks,
And Bess she's but a gawky.

Dirum dum, &c.

In Fife there liv'd a wicked wife,

And she has taen the gee, man; The door-barring caus'd the strife,

And Sandy o'er the lee, man; Tarry woo frae Tweedside came,

Frae Aberdeen cauld kail, man, Made gude Scotch brose to fill our wame, Could Donald M‘Donald fail, man.

Dirum dum, &c.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot?

Sae merry's we ha'e been, man; Yet still on Menie's charms I doat,

At Polwart on the green, man; Willie was a wanton wag.

And push'd about the jorum, While Řab the ranter burst his bag Playing the Reel of Tullochgorum.

Dirum dum, &c.

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THE

POCKET ENCYCLOPEDIA,

&c.

ng iscellaneous Songs.

LAMENT FOR ABERCROMBIE.

TUNE_" Humours of Glen.” WHEN Nature with wild-flowers bespangled the moun

tains, And meadows display'd a' their charms to the bee; When

pure gush'd the rills by their grass-border'd foun

tains, And saft sough'd the wind through the bloom-laden

tree; Beneath yon auld aik, on the green banks o’ Clouden,

Whare aft in the gloamin' I wander'd to rave, Auld Malcolm was seen, o'er his scars fondly broodin',

Lamenting a warrior laid cauld in his grave. He stood by the stream, on a strong claymore leaning,

Like ane whase sad bosom osorrow is fou; He strade o'er the gowans fu’ mournfully maening, And straight frae its scabbard his braid sword he drew:

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