CAPTAIN GROSE.

TUNE-'Sir John Malcolm,'

KEN ye ought o' Captain Grose?

Igo, and ago,

If he's amang his friends or foes?
Iram, coram, dago.

Is he South, or is he North?
Igo, and ago,

Or drowned in the river Forth?
Iram, coram, dago.

Is he slain by Highland bodies?
Igo, and ago,

And eaten like a wether-haggis?
Iram, coram, dago.

Is he to Abram's bosom gane?
Igo, and ago,

Or haudin Sarah by the wame?
Iram, coram, dago.

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him!
Igo, and ago,

As for the deil, he daur na steer him. Iram, coram, dago.

But please transmit th' enclosed letter, Igo, and ago,

Which will oblige your humble debtor.
Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye hae auld stanes in store,
Igo, and ago,

The very stanes that Adam bore.

Iram, coram, dago.

So may ye get in glad possession,
Igo, and ago,

The coins o' Satan's coronation!
Iram, coram, dago.

WHISTLE OWRE THE LAVE O'T.

FIRST when Maggy was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her air; Now we're married-spier nae mairWhistle owre the lave o't.

Meg was meek, and Meg was mild,
Bonie Meg was nature's child-
Wiser men than me's beguil'd;-
Whistle owre the lave o't.
How we live, my Meg and me,
How we love and how we 'gree,
I care na by how few may see-
Whistle owre the lave o't.
Wha I wish were maggots' meat,
Dish'd up in her winding sheet,
I could write-but Meg maun see't-
Whistle owre the lave o't.

O, ONCE I LOV'D A BONIE LASS.

TUNE-'I am a Man unmarried.

O, ONCE I lov'd a bonie lass,

Ay, and I love her still,

And whilst that virtue warms my breast
I'll love my handsome Nell.
Fal lal de ral, &c.

As bonie lasses I hae seen,

And monie full as braw,
But for a modest gracefu' mien
The like I never saw.

A bonie lass, I will confess,
Is pleasant to the ee,
But without some better qualities
She's no a lass for me.

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet,
And what is best of a',
Her reputation is complete,

And fair without a flaw.

She dresses aye sae clean and neat,
Both decent and genteel:
And then there's something in her gait
Gars onie dress look weel.

A gaudy dress and gentle air

May slightly touch the heart, But it's innocence and modesty That polishes the dart.

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 'Tis this enchants my soul ! For absolutely in my breast She reigns without control.

Fal lal de ral, &c.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
In a' our town or here awa;
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu' lightly danc'd he in the ha'!
He roos'd my een sae bonie blue,

He roos'd my waist sae genty sma'; An' aye my heart came to my mou, When ne'er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain, Thro' wind and weed, thro' frost and snaw;

And o'er the lea I look fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. An' aye the night comes round again, When in his arms he takes me a'; An' aye he vows he'll be my ain

As lang's he has a breath to draw.

M'PHERSON'S FAREWELL. FAREWELL,ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch's destinie: M'Pherson's time will not be long On yonder gallows tree.

CHORUS.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,

Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring and danc'd it round,

Below the gallows tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?—
On monie a bloody plain
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword!
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
Sae rantingly, &c.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart
And not avengèd be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky!
May coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die !
Sae rantingly, &c.

THE DEAN OF FACULTY.

A NEW BALLAD.

TUNE- The Dragon of Wantley." DIRE was the hate at old Harlaw That Scot to Scot did carry; And dire the discord Langside saw, For beauteous, hapless Mary: But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, Or were more in fury seen, Sir, Than 'twixt Hal and Bob for the famous job

Who should be Faculty's Dean, Sir. This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, Among the first was number'd; But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, Commandment the tenth remember'd. Yet simple Bob the victory got,

And won his heart's desire;
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot,
Though the devil piss in the fire.
Squire Hal besides had, in this case,
Pretensions rather brassy,

For talents to deserve a place
Are qualifications saucy;
So their worships of the Faculty,
Quite sick of merit's rudeness,
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see,

To their gratis grace and goodness.

As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight Of a son of Circumcision,

So may be, on this Pisgah height,

Bob's purblind, mental vision; Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet, Till for eloquence you hail him, And swear he has the Angel met

That met the Ass of Balaam.

In your heretic sins may ye live and die,
Ye heretic eight and thirty!
But accept, ye sublime Majority,

My congratulations hearty.
With your Honors and a certain King,
In your servants this is striking-
The more incapacity they bring,
The more they're to your liking.

I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

And I'll kiss thee o'er again,
An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet,

My bonie Peggy Alison !

ILK care and fear, when thou art near,
I ever mair defy them, O;
Young Kings upon their hansel throne
Are no sae blest as I am, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure, O;
I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share,
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O!
I'll kiss thee, &c.

And by thy een sae bonie blue,

I swear I'm thine for ever, O;And on thy lips I seal my vow, And break it shall I never, O! I'll kiss thee, &c.

ON CESSNOCK BANKS. TUNE-If he be a Butcher neat and trim? ON Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; Could I describe her shape and mien; Our lasses a' she far excels,

An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

She's sweeter than the morning dawn When rising Phoebus first is seen, And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

She's stately like yon youthful ash

That grows the cowslip braes between, And drinks the stream with vigour fresh; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn With flow'rs so white and leaves so

green,

When purest in the dewy morn;

An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her looks are like the vernal May,
When ev'ning Phoebus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on every spray;
An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her hair is like the curling mist

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,

When flow'r-reviving rains are past; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her forehead's like the show'ry bow,

When gleaming sunbeams intervene And gild the distant mountain's brow; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
The pride of all the flowery scene,
Just opening on its thorny stem;
An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her teeth are like the nightly snow When pale the morning rises keen, While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;

An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,

That sunny walls from Boreas screen; They tempt the taste and charm the sight;

An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,

With fleeces newly washen clean, That slowly mount the rising steep: An' she has twa glancin' sparklin'

een.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze

That gently stirs the blossom'd bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

Her voice is like the ev'ning thrush

That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush; An' she has twa sparkling rogueish

een.

But it's not her air, her form, her face, Tho' matching beauty's fabled queen, 'Tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,

An' chiefly in her rogueish een.

PRAYER FOR MARY.

TUNE- Blue Bonnets.'

POWERS celestial, whose protection
Ever guards the virtuous fair,
While in distant climes I wander,
Let my Mary be your care:
Let her form sae fair and faultless,
Fair and faultless as your own;
Let my Mary's kindred spirit

Draw your choicest influence down.

YOUNG Peggy blooms our bonniest lass,

Her blush is like the morning,
The rosy dawn, the springing grass,
With early gems adorning :
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams
That gild the passing shower,
And glitter o'er the crystal streams,

And cheer each fresh'ning flower.

Her lips more than the cherries bright,
A richer dye has grac'd them;
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight,
And sweetly tempt to taste them:
Her smile is as the ev ning mild,

When feather'd pairs are courting,
And little lambkins wanton wild,
In playful bands disporting.

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe,

Such sweetness would relent her, As blooming Spring unbends the brow

Of surly, savage Winter. Detraction's eye no aim can gain Her winning powers to lessen ; And fretful envy grins in vain, The poison'd tooth to fasten.

Ye Pow'rs of Honour, Love, and
Truth,

From ev'ry ill defend hre;
Inspire the highly favour'd youth
The destinies intend her;
Still fan the sweet connubial flame
Responsive in each bosom;
And bless the dear parental name
With many a filial blossom.