I'll let her stand u year or twa; She'll no be half sae saucy yet. I RUE the day I sought her. O; Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet ; Come draw a drap o' the best o t yet Gae seek for pleasure where ye will But here I never miss'd it yet. My love, she's. &c. We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; MY WIFE HAS TA'EN THE GEE. A FRIEND O' mine cam here yestreen, To drink a bottle o' ale wi' him In the neist burrows town: But oh, indeed, it was, Sir, Sae far the waur for me; My wife had tane the gee. We sat sae late, and drank sae stout, The truth I tell to you, And the tear blinds aye her ee; In the mornin' sune, when I cam doun, The ne'er a word she spake ; But mony a sad and sour look, And aye her head she'd shake. If you'll ne'er tak' the gee. When that she heard, she ran, she flang And, poor wee thing, she grat. • From Herd's collection, 1776. THE BONNIE LASS O' BRANKSOME. ALLAN RAMSAY. Tune" The Bonnie Las o' Branksome. 4 Fame in by Teviot side, 17.4 the bries of Branksome, There firs' I saw my bonny bride, Young Smiling, sweet, and handsome. Her skin was safter than the down, And white as alabaster; Her hair, a shining, waving brown; I straightness nane surpass'd her. Life glow'd upon her lip and cheek, Ae little coat and bodice white Was sum o' a' her claithing; E'en these o'er muckle;-mair delyte She'd given clad wi' naething. We lean'd upon a flowery brae, By which a burnie trotted; On her I glowr'd my soul away, While on her sweets I doated. A thousand beauties of desert Before had scarce alarm'd me, Till this dear artless struck my heart, And, bot designing, charm'd me. Hurried by love, close to my breast I clasp'd this fund of blisses,Wha smiled, and said, Without a priest, Sir, hope for nocht but kisses. I had nae heart to do her harm, O' hers pled I should grant her. MY WIFE'S A WANTON WEE THING. This song, which appeared in the Tea-Table Miscellany, (1724), was founded upon a real incident. The bonnie lass was daughter to a woman who kept an alehouse at the hamlet near Branksome Castle, in Teviotdale. A young officer, of some rank, his name we believe was Maitland, happened to be be quarter ed somewhere in the neighbourhood, saw, loved, and married her. So strange was such an alliance deemed in those days, that the old mother, under whose auspices it was performed, did not escape the imputation of witchcraft. SONGS. 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. The bear's 'i the brear, and the hay's i' the stack, And a' 'll be right wi' us, gin Jamie were come back. And we're a noddin', &c. From Johnson's Scots Musical Museum, vol. II. MY NATIVE CALEDONIA. SAIR, sair was my heart, when I parted frae my And sair, sair I sigh'd, while the tears stood in For my daddie is but poor, and my fortune is but sma'; Which gars me leave my native Caledonia. When I think on days now gane, and how happy I hae been, While wandering wi' my dearie, where the primrose blaws unseen; I'm wae to leave my lassie, and my daddie's sim ple ha', Or the hills and healthfu' breeze o' Caledonia. But wherever I wander, still happy be my Jean! Nae care disturb her bosom, where peace has ever been! Then, though ills on ills befa' me, for her I'll bear them a', Though aft I'll heave a sigh for Caledonia. But should riches e'er be mine, and my Jeanie still be true, Then blaw, ye favourin' breezes, till my native land I view ; Then I'll kneel on Scotia's shore, while the heart-felt tear shall fa', And never leave my Jean and Caledonia. O, AN YE WERE DEID, GUIDMAN. There's sax eggs in the pan, guidman, There's beef into the pot, guidman, There's sax horse in the sta', guidman, There's sax kye in the byre, guidman, The two first stanzas, however, appear in And the lave is our John Highlandman's. 1790. OH, WHAT A PARISH! ADAM CRAWFORD. Tune" Bonnie Dundee." O, what a parish, what a terrible parisk, Dung down the steeple, and drucken the bell! THOUGH the steeple was doun, the kirk was still stannin; They biggit a lum where the bell used to hang; A stell-pat they gat, and they brewed Hieland whisky; On Sundays they drank it, and rantit and sang! Oh, had you but seen how gracefu' it luikit, When the heart-cheerin spirit had mountit the garret, To a ball on the green they a' did adjourn; Maids, wi' their coats kiltit, they skippit and liltit; When tired, they shook hands, and a hame did return.. Ha-diddle, how-diddle, ha-diddle, how-diddle, went the pipers; Fiddle-diddle, fiddle-diddle, went the fiddlers three: And there's no a lass in a' Scotland, Crawford, the inditer of this curious frolic, was a WHEN white was my o'erlay as foam o' the linn, tailor in Edinburgh, and the author of some other good And siller was clinkin' my pouches within; When my lambkins were bleating on meadow | His boots they were made of the jag, and brae; As I gaed to my love in new cleeding sae gay, Kind was she, And my friends were free; But poverty parts gude companie. How swift pass'd the minutes and hours of light! When he went to the weapon-shaw; Upon the green nane durst him brag, The fient a ane amang them a'. And was not Willie weel worth gowd? He wan the love o' grit and sma'; de-For, after he the bride had kiss'd, The piper play'd cheerly, the crusie burn'd bright; And link'd in my hand was the maiden sae dear, As she footed the floor in her holiday gear. Woe is me, And can it then be, That poverty parts sic companie! We met at the fair, we met at the kirk, The cheering and life of my bosom have been. At Martinmas flee; And poverty parts sweet companie. At bridal and infare I've braced me wi' pride; The bruse I hae won, and a kiss o' the bride; And loud was the laughter gay fellows among, When I utter'd my banter and chorus'd my song. Dowie to dree Are jesting and glee, When poverty parts gude companie. Wherever I gaed the blythe lasses smiled sweet, And mithers and aunties were mair than discreet, He kiss'd the lasses haill-sale a'. Sae merrily round the ring they row'd, When by the hand he led them a'; And smack on smack on them bestow'd, By virtue of a standing law. And was na Willie a great loun, As shyre a lick as e'er was seen? When he danced with the lasses round, The bridegroom spier'd where he had been. Quoth Willie, I've been at the ring; Wi' bobbin', faith, my shanks are sair ; Gae ca' the bride and maidens in, For Willie he dow do na mair. Then rest ye, Willie, I'll gae out, And for a wee fill up the ring; But shame licht on his souple snout! He wanted Willie's wanton fling. Then straight he to the bride did fare, Says, Weel's me on your bonny face: Bridegroom, says she, you'll spoil the dance, Oh, Willie has a wanton leg! While kebbuck and bicker were set on the We will find nae sic dancin' here, If we want Willie's wanton fling. THE AULD MAN'S MEAR'S DEAD. Tunc-"The auld man's mear's dead." THERE was hay to ca', and lint to lead, The auld man's, &c. She had the fiercie and the fleuk, From the Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724. As it is there sigued by the initials of the author, there arises a presumption that he was alive, and a friend of Ram say, at the period of the publication of that work. She was lang-tooth'd and blench-lippit, ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. MRS. GRANT OF CARRON. As I came o'er the brues of Balloch ? SHE vow'd, she swore, she wad be mine; Oh, she was a canty quean, And weel could dance the Hieland walloch! Or I been Roy of Aldivalloch ! Her hair sae fair, her een sae clear, Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie! To me she ever will be dear, STEER HER UP AND HAUD HER GAUN. Tune-" Steer her up and haud her gaun." O STEER her up and haud her gaun ; But gin she winna tak a man, E'en let her tak her will, jo. See that shining glass of claret, How invitingly it looks! Pox on fighting, trade, and books! And let wind and weather gowl. Call the drawer; let him fill it 'Tis mair precious far than gold. SYMON BRODIE. SYMON BRODIE had a cow, The cow was lost, and he could na find her; Stupid auld doitit bodie! I'll awa to the North countrie, And see my ain dear Symon Brodie. Symon Brodie had a wife, And, wow! but she was braw and bonnie; NEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO The late Rev. Mr. Clunie, minister of the parish of Borthwick, near Edinburgh, (who was so enthusias tically fond of singing Scottish songs, that he used to hang his watch round the candle on Sunday evenings, and wait anxiously till the conjunction of the hands at 12 o'clock permitted him to break out in one of his favourite ditties), was noted for the admirable manner in which he sung "Bonny Dundee," "Waly, waly, up yon bank," The Auld Man's Mear's dead," with many other old Scottish ditties. One day, happening to meet with some friends at a tavern in Dalkeith, he You've surely heard o' famous Neil, was solicited to favour the company with the latter The man that played the fiddle weel; humorous ditty which he was accordingly singing Tune-"Farwell to Whisky." with his usual effect and brilliancy, when the woman I wat he was a canty chiel, And dearly loe'd the whisky, O. To play farewell to whisky, O. Alake, quoth Neil, I'm frail and áuld, |