BESS AND HER SPINNING WHEEL.
OLEEZE me on my spinning wheel,
O leeze me on my rock and reel :
Frae tap to tae that cleeds me bien,
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en!
I'll set me down and sing and spin,
While laigh descends the simmer sun,
Blest wi' content, and milk, and meal→
O leeze me on my spinning wheel.
On ilka hand the burnies trot,
Ane meet below my theekit cot;
The scented birk and hawthorn white
Across the pool their arms unite.
Alike to screen the birdie's nest :
And little fishes caller rest:
The sun blinks kindly in the biel,'
Where blythe I turn my spinning wheel.
On lofty aiks the cushats wail,
And echo cons the dolefu' tale!
The lintwhites in the hazel braes,
Delighted, rival ither's Inys:
The craik amang the claver hay,
The paitrick whirrin o'er the ley,
The swallow jinkin round my shiel,
Amuse me at my spinning wheel.
Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy,'
Aboon distress, below envy,
O, wha wad leave this humble state,
For a' the pride of a' the great
Amid their flairing idle toys,
Amid their cumbrous dinsome joys,
Can they the peace and pleasure feel
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel?
THE GALLANT WEAVER.
WHERE cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine;
An' I was fear'd my heart would tine,
An' I gied it to the weaver.
My daddy sign'd my tocher-band,
To gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
An' give it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bow'rs;
While bees delight in opening flow'rs;
While corn grows green in simmer show'rs,
I'll love my gallant weaver.*
WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' MALT.
O WILLIE brew'd a peck o' maut,
An' Rob an' Allan cam' to see;
Three blyther hearts, that lee-lang night,
Ye wad na find in Christendie.
We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
But just a drappie in our e'e;
The cock may craw, the day may daw,
An' ay w'ell taste the barley brie.
Here we met, three merry boys,
Three merry boys I trow are we;
And mony a night we've merry been,
An' mony mair we hope to be!
We are na fou, &c.
In some editions Sailor is substituted for Weaver,
It is the moon, I ken her horn,
That's blinkin in the left sae hie;
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame,
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee!
We are na fou, &c.
Wha first shall rise to gang awa,
A cuckold, coward loun is he!
Wha first beside his chair shall fa',
He is the king amang us three!
We are na fou, &c.
OF A' THE ARTS THE WIN' CAN BLAW.
OF a' the arts the win' can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonny lassie lives,
The lass that I lo'e best;
Tho' wild woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi' mony a hill between,
Baith day an' night my fancy's flight
Is ever with my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flow'rs,
Sae lovely, sweet, an' fair,
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi' music charm the air;
There's not a bonny flow'r that springs
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonny bird that sings,
But minds me of my Jean.
THE BANKS O' DOON..
YE banks an' braes o' bonny Doon,
How can ye bloom so fresh an' fair?
How can you chant, ye little birds,
An' I sae weary, fu' o' care!
Thou'll break my heart thou warbling bird, That wantons thro' the flow'ring thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys,
Departed, never to return.
Oft have I rov'd by bonnie Doon,
To see the rose and woodbine twine;
An' ilka bird sang o' its love,
An' fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose,
Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree;
An' my fause lover stole my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi' me.
A MAN'S A MAN, FOR A' THAT.
Is there for honest poverty,
Who hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave we pass him by,
And dare be poor for a' that;
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils, obscure, an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd, for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silk, an' knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel shew, an' a' that;
An honest man, though ne'er sae poor,
Is chief o' men, for a' that.
You see yon birkie, ca'd a Lord,
Wha struts and stares, an' a' that,
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a cuif for a' that.
For a' that, and a' that,
His ribband, star, and a' that;
A man of independent mind
Can look, and laugh at a' that.
The king can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
An honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith he manna fa' that!
For a' that, and a' that,
His dignities, and a' that:
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are grandeur far than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it shall for a' that,
That sense an' worth o'er all the earth,
Shall bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that;
It's comin yet, for a' that;
That man to man, the wide world o'er,
Shall brothers be, for a' that.
FOR THE SAKE O' SOMEBODY.
My heart is sair, I dare na tell,
My heart is sair for somebody;
I could wake a winter night
For the sake of somebody.
Oh-hoo! for somebody!
Oh-hey! for somebody!
I could range the world all round,
For the sake o' somebody.
Ye pow'rs that smile on virtuous love,
O sweetly smile on somebody;
Frae ilka danger keep him free,
And send me safe my somebody.
Oh-hon! for somebody!
Oh-hey! for somebody!
I wad do-what wad I not?
For the sake o' somebody!
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