I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow, There's John Anderson, my jo, John, what pleasure does it gie, To see sae many sprouts, John, spring up 'tween you and me, And ilka lad and lass, John, in our footsteps to go, Makes perfect heaven here on earth, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, when we were first acquaint, Your locks were like the raven, your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your head's turn'd bald, John, your locks are like the snow, Yet blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, frae year to year we've past, And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to our last : But let na' that affright us, John, our hearts were ne'er our foe, While in innocent delight we lived, John Anderson, my jo. VOL. IV. X John There's Lowrie the laird o' Drumeller, But when will he dance like Tam Glen? My minnie does constantly deave me, My John Anderson, my jo, John, we clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John, we've had wi' ane anither; Now we maun totter down, John, but hand in hand we'll go ; And we'll sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson, my jo. The stanza with which this song, inserted by Messrs. Brash and Reid, begins, is the chorus of the old song under this title; and though perfectly suitable to that wicked but witty ballad, it has no accordance with the strain of delicate and tender sentiment of this improved song. In regard to the five other additional stanzas, though they are in the spirit of the two stanzas that are unquestionably our bard's, yet every reader of discernment will see they are by an inferior hand; and the real author of them ought neither to have given them, nor suffered them to be given, to the world, as the production of Burns. If there were no other mark of their spurious origin, the latter half of the third line in My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, The last Halloween I was waukin Come in the seventh stanza, our hearts were ne'er our foe, would be proof sufficient. Many are the instances in which our bard has adopted defective rhymes, but a single instance cannot be produced, in which to preserve the rhyme, he has given a feeble thought, in false gramThese additional stanzas are not however without merit, and they may serve to prolong the pleasure which every person of taste must feel, from listening to a most happy union of beautiful music, with moral sentiments that are singularly interesting. mar. x 2 E. Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry; MY MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL O MEIKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; My Tocher's the jewel has charms for him. Your proffer a' luve's an airl-penny, But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. Ye're |