But thought I might hae waur offers, waur

offers,

But thought I might hae waur offers.

But what wad ye think? in a fortnight or lefs, The de'il tak' his tafte to gae near her!

He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, Guefs ye how the jad! I could bear her, could bear her,

Guefs

ye how the jad! I could bear her.

But a' the niest week as I petted wi' care,
I gaed to the tryfte o' Dalgarnock;
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there,
I glowr'd as I'd feen a warlock, a warlock,
I glowr'd as I'd seen a 'warlock.

But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink, Leeft neebours might fay I was faucy:

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, And vow'd I was his dear laffie, dear laffie, And vow'd I was his dear laffie.

F

I fpier'd for my cousin fu' couthy and sweet, If she had recover'd her hearing;

And how her new fhoon fit her auld fhachl't

feet;

But heavens! how he fell a-fwearing, a

fwearing,

But heavens! how he fell a-fwearing.

He begged for gude-fake! I wad be his wife, Or else I wad kill him with forrow:

So e'en to preserve the poor body in life,

I think I maun wed him-to-morrow, to

morrow,

I think I maun wed him to-morrow.

O WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TOWN.

Air.-"WE'LL GANG NAE MAIR TO YON TOWN."

WAT ye wha's in yon town,

Ye fee the ev'ning fun upon?

The faireft maid's in yon town
That ev'ning fun is shining on.
Now, haply down yon gay green shaw,
She wanders by yon spreading tree;
How bleft, ye flowers that round her blaw,
Ye catch the glances of her e'e!
How bleft, ye birds that round her fing,

And welcome in the blooming year!

And doubly welcome be the spring,
The season to my Lucy dear.

The fun blinks blythe on yon town,
And on yon bonie braes of Ayr;

But my delight in yon town,

And dearest joy, is Lucy fair.

Without my love, not a' the charms
Of Paradife could yield me joy;
But gi'e me Lucy in my arms,

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky.
My cave would be a lover's bower,
Tho' raging winter rent the air;

And she, a lovely little flower

That I would tent and shelter there.

O fweet is the in yon town

Yon finking fun's gane down upon; A fairer than's in yon town,

If

His fetting beam ne'er fhone upon.
angry fate is fworn my foe,

And suffering I am doom'd to bear,
I, careless, quit aught else below,

But spare me, fpare me Lucy dear. And while life's dearest blood is warm, Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart;

For fhe, as fairest is her form,

She has the trueft, kindest heart.

IN SIMMER WHEN THE HAY WAS

MAWN.

Air.-" JOHN, COME KISS ME NOW."

N fimmer when the hay was mawn,

IN

And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
While clover blooms white o'er the lea,
And rofes blaw in ilka bield;
Blythe Beffie in the milking shiel,

Says, I'll be wed come o't what will,
Out fpak' a dame in wrinkled eild,
Of gude advisement comes nae ill.

It's

ye ha'e wooers mony ane,

And laffie ye're but young, ye ken;
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale
A routhie butt, a routhie ben :
There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen,
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre;
Tak' this frae me, my bonie hen,
It's plenty beets the lover's fire.