RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.'

TUNE-Rattlin', roarin' Willie.

O RATTLIN', roarin' Willie,
Oh, he held to the fair,
An' for to sell his fiddle,
An' buy some other ware;
But parting wi' his fiddle,
The saut tear blin't his ee;
And rattlin', roarin' Willie,
Ye're welcome hame to me!
O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
Oh sell your fiddle sae fine;
O Willie, come sell your fiddle,
And buy a pint o' wine!
If I should sell my fiddle,

The warl' would think I was mad;

For mony a rantin' day

My fiddle and I hae had.

As I cam by Crochallan,
I cannily keekit ben-
Rattlin', roarin' Willie

Was sitting at yon board en';

Sitting at yon board en',

And amang guid companie;

Rattlin', roarin' Willie,

Ye're welcome hame to me!

THE TAILOR.

The second and fourth verses are by Burns; the rest is very old. The air is beautiful, and is played by the Corporation of Tailors at their annual elections and processions.

TUNE-The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'.

THE tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a',
The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a';

1 The hero of this song was William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the "Signet," Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan corps, a club of wits, who took that title at the time of raising the Fencible regiments. Burns says, "he was one of the worthiest fellows in the world."

The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma'
The tailor fell thro' the bed, thimbles an' a'.

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill,
The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae ill;
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay still,
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill.

Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
Gie me the groat again, canny young man;
The day it is short, and the night it is lang,
The dearest siller that ever I wan!

There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's somebody weary wi' lying her lane;
There's some that are dowie, I trow wad be fain
To see the bit tailor come skippin' again.

SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME.

The first verse is by Burns, the others are only revised by him.
TUNE-Ay waukin O.

SIMMER's a pleasant time,
Flowers of every color;
The water rins o'er the heugh,'
And I long for my true lover.

Ay waukin2 0,

Waukin still and wearie:
Sleep I can get nane3

For thinking on my dearie.

When I sleep I dream,

When I wauk I'm eerie ;*

Sleep I can get nane

For thinking on my dearie.

Lanely night comes on,

A' the lave are sleeping;

I think on my bonnie lad,

And I bleer my een with greetin’.
Ay waukin, &c.

1 Crag.-2 Waking.-3 None.-4 Frightened.

WHEN ROSY MAY.

In other days every trade and vocation had a tune to dance or march to: the air of this song is the march of the gardeners; the title only is old; the rest is the work of Burns.-Cunningham.

TUNE-The gardener wi' his paidle.

WHEN rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers,
Then busy, busy are his hours-

The gardener wi' his paidle.

The crystal waters gently fa';
The merry birds are lovers a';

The scented breezes round him blaw-
The gardener wi' his paidle.

When purple morning starts the hare
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews he maun repair-
The gardener wi' his paidle.

When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws of nature's rest,
He flies to her arms he lo'es best-
The gardener wi' his paidle.

MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET.
The title and some lines are old; the rest of the song is by Burns.
TUNE-Lady Badinscoth's Reel.

My love she's but a lassie yet;
My love she's but a lassie yet;
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her, O,
I rue the day I sought her, O;
Wha gets her need na say she's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought 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.

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't,
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't;
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife,
An' could na preach for thinking o't.

JAMIE, COME TRY ME.

TUNE-Jamie, come try me.
Jamie, come try me,
Jamie, come try me;
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.

If thou should ask my love,
Could I deny thee?
If thou would win my love,
Jamie, come try me.

If thou should kiss me, love,
Wha could espy thee?
If thou wad be my love,
Jamie, come try me.
Jamie, come, &c.

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY.

Part of this song is old, and part of it by Burns

TUNE-Oh mount and go.

Oh mount and go,

Mount and make you ready;

Oh mount and go,

And be the captain's lady.

WHEN the drums do beat,

And the cannons rattle,

Thou shalt sit in state,

And see thy love in battle.
When the vanquish'd foe,
Sues for peace and quiet,
To the shades we'll go,
And in love enjoy it.
Oh mount, &c.

OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED, ETC.

The second and fourth stanzas are original; the others only revised from a Jacobite song.

TUNE-Awa Whigs, awa.

Awa Whigs, awa!

Awa Whigs, aroa!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae good at a'.

OUR thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonnie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs came like a frost in June,
And wither'd a' our posies.

Our ancient crown's fa'n in the dust-
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't;
And write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.

Our sad decay in Church and State
Surpasses my descriving;
The Whigs came o'er us for a curse,
And we hae done wi' thriving.

Grim vengeance lang has ta'n a nap,
But we may see him wauken;
Gude help the day when royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin.

Awa, Whigs, &c.

MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE.

TUNE-Lord Breadalbane's March.

Оn merry haе I been teethin' a heckle,
And merry hae I been shapin' a spoon;
Oh merry hae I been cloutin a kettle,

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done.
Oh a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer,
An' a' the lang day I whistle and sing,
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer,
An' a' the lang night as happy 's a king.