O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught;
The canniest gate, the strife is sair;
But aye fu' han't is fechtin best,

An hungry care's an unco care:
But some will spend, and some will spare,
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will;
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair,

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land,

And gear will buy me sheep and kye; But the tender heart o' leesome luve The gowd and siller canna buy: We may be poor-Robie and I; Light is the burden luve lays on; Content and luve brings peace and joy; What mair hae queens upon a throne?

XXXI.

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.

Is there, for honest poverty

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp ;
The man's the gowd for a' that.

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden-grey, and a' that;

Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word He's but a coof for a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might:
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities, and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,

As come it will for a' that,

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

It's coming yet, for a' that,

That man to man, the warld o'er,

Shall brothers be for a' that.

XXXII.

TUNE-Corn rigs are bonnie.

It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me thro' the barley.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
1 set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken'd her heart was a' my ain;
I loved her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely;
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin;

I hae been joyfu' gathering gear;
I hae been happy thinkin:

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

O corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie;
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

XXXIII.

JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.

JOHN ANDERSON my jo, John,
When we were first acquent,
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snaw;
But blessings on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

John Anderson my jo, John,
We clamb the hill thegither;
And mony a canty day, John,
We've had wi' ane anither:
Now we maun totter down, John,
But hand in hand we'll go,
And sleep thegither at the foot,
John Anderson my jo.

XXXIV.

LASSIE WI' THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.

TUNE-Rothiemurchus's Rant.

CHORUS.

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks,
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie,
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks,
Wilt thou be my dearie O?

Now nature cleeds the flowery lea,
And a' is young and sweet like thee;
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me,
And say thou 'lt be my dearie O?
Lassie wi', &c.

And when the welcome simmer-shower
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower,
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower
At sultry noon, my dearie O.

Lassie wi', &c.

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray,
The weary shearer's hameward way,
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray,
And talk o' love, my dearie O.

Lassie wi', &c.

And when the howling wintry blast
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest;
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast,
I'll comfort thee, my dearie O.
Lassie wi', &c.