TUNE YOUR FIDDLES. THIS song was composed by the Rev. John Skinner, Non-juring Clergyman at Linshart, near Peterhead. He is likewise the author of "Tullochgorum," "Ewie wi' the Crookit horn," "John o' Badenyond," &c.; and what is of still more consequence, he is one of the worthiest of mankind. He is the Author of an "Ecclesiastical History of Scotland." The air is by Mr. Marshall, butler to the Duke of Gordon; the first composer of strathspeys of the age. I have been told by somebody who had it of Marshall himself, that he took the idea of his three most celebrated pieces, "The Marquis of Huntly's Reel," his "Farewel,” and “Miss Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old air, The German Lairdie.' Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, Come, my boys, blythe and gawcie, Shy nor melancholy. Come, my boys, &c. Lay aside your sour grimaces, How they smile delighted; Now's the season to be merry, Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry, Time enough to turn camsterry When we're auld and doited. Now's the season, &c. Butler, put about the claret, It has claret plenty : Wine's the true inspiring liquor, Wine's the true inspiring liquor, &c. We'll extol our noble master, Sprung from many a brave ancestor,-. Heaven preserve him from disaster, So we pray in duty. Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, Keep her out of Pluto's clutches, Long in health and beauty,` Prosper, too, our pretty Duchess, &c. Angels guard their gallant boy, Make him long his father's joy, Sturdy, like the heir of Troy, Stout and brisk and healthy, Pallas, grant him every blessing, Plutus, what's in thy possessing, Make him rich and wealthy, Pallas, grant him every blessing, &c. Youth, solace him with thy pleasure, From the Royal donor; Famous may he be in story, Full of days, and full of glory; To the grave, when old and hoary, May he go with honour! Famous may he be in story, &c. Gordons, join our hearty praises, Love our cheerful spirits raises, Lofty as the lark is: Echo, waft our wishes daily, Thro' the grove, and thro' the alley, Sound o'er every hill and valley, Blessings on our Marquis. Echo, waft our wishes, &c. THE RANTING DOG THE DADDIE O'T. Tune-EAST NOOK O' FIFE. I COMPOSED this song pretty early in life, and sent it to a young girl, a very particular acquaintance of mine, who was at that time under a cloud. O wha my babie-clouts will buy? The rantin dog the daddie o't. Wha will own he did the faut? The rantin dog the daddie o't. When I mount the creepie-chair,* The rantin dog the daddie o't. Wha will crack to me my lane? The rantin dog the daddie o't. HOOLY AND FAIRLY. IT is remark-worthy that the song of Hooly and Fairly, in all the old editions of it, is called The Drunken Wife o' Galloway, which localizes it to that country. THE DRUNKEN WIFE O' GALLOWAY. Oh! what had I to do for to marry? My wife she drinks naething but sack and Canary, I to her friends complain'd right early, * Creepie-chair-the stool of repentance. |