'Life's cares they are comforts','—a maxim laid

down [gown; By the bard, what d'ye call him, that wore the black And faith I agree with th' old prig to a hair, For a big-bellied bottle's a heav'n of care.

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge.

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erflow, And honours masonic prepare for to throw; May every true brother of the compass and square Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd with care.

HIGHLAND MARY.

TUNE-Katharine Ogie.

YE banks, and braes, and streams around

The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair

your

flowers,

Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfald her robes,

And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Young's Night Thoughts.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;

But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

O, pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust,
That heart that loe'd me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core,
Shall live my Highland Mary.

AULD LANG SYNE.

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne?

CHORUS.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu'd the gowans fine;

But we've wander'd mony a weary
Sin auld lang syne.

foot

For auld, &c.

171

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,

From mornin sun till dine:

But seas between us braid hae roar'd
Sin auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,

And gie's a hand o' thine;

And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp,
And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet

For auld lang syne.

For auld, &c.

BANNOCKBURN.

Robert Bruce's Address to his Army.

Scors, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to glorious victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;

See approach proud Edward's power-
Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor! coward! turn and flee?

FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT.
Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Free-man stand, or free-man fa'?
Caledonian! on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be-shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Forward! let us do, or die!

173

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.

DAINTY DAVIE.

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green spreading bowers;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.