/ / 
 
 I 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 
 HEROIC BALLADS, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 COLLECTED BY 
 
 REPRINTED FROM THE EDITION OF 1776, 
 
 WITH AN APPENDIX, 
 
 CONTAINING THE PIECES SUBSTITUTED IN THE EDITION 
 OF 1791 FOR OMISSIONS FROM THAT OF 17/6, &C. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOLUME the FIRST. 
 
 KERR & RICHARDSON, 
 
 GLASGOW. 
 
 1869. 
 
 (Laryt Paper Copy.)
 
 GLASGOW : 
 PRINTED BY ROBERT ANDERSON, 
 
 22 ANN STREET, 
 OFF JAMAICA STRF.ET.
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 \l I 
 
 THE two volumes published in 1776, entitled 'Ancient and 
 Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, &c.,' are generally 
 acknowledged to be the collection of DAVID HERD. It has 
 been surmised,* from a letter of Bishop PERCY to PATON, dated 
 9th February, 1769, that PATON was in whole or in part the 
 editor of the first edition of these Songs and Ballads, published 
 in one volume, in 1769. With this exception, HERD is always 
 alluded to as the editor. 
 
 In the Preface to the 1 776 edition, it is said that the favourable 
 reception of the first edition ' ' encouraged the Editor to extend 
 ' and arrange it in the form which it now wears. The reader 
 ' will find here all the Songs contained in the former edition, 
 ' with the addition of nearly an equal number. In fine, the 
 ' Editor hath attempted to compile a more compleat and 
 ' better arranged collection of Scottish Songs than any hitherto 
 ' published." 
 
 It is clear from this statement that the editor of the second 
 edition was the editor of the first ; and no coadjutor is 
 acknowledged. 
 
 DAVID HERD, who died in 1810, aged seventy-eight, was a 
 native of St. Cyrus, in Kincardineshire. He was a clerk in the 
 office of Mr. DAVID RUSSELL, accountant, in Edinburgh. SCOTT 
 says he " was known and generally esteemed for his shrewd, 
 manly common sense, and antiquarian science, mixed with much 
 good-nature and great modesty. His hardy and antique mould 
 of countenance, and his venerable grizzled locks, procured him, 
 amongst his acquaintance, the name of Graysteil." 
 
 The value of HERD'S Collection is variously estimated. RlTSONf 
 
 is " bound in gratitude to acknowledge" indebtedness to it for 
 
 ' a number of excellent and genuine compositions, never before 
 
 'printed." And, again, begs PATON (Letter, igth May, 1795) 
 
 to present HERD with " my sincerest acknowledgements for his 
 
 ' valuable collection of Scottish Ballads, many of which are 
 
 ' particularly curious, and such as I had never before seen or 
 
 'heard of." 
 
 SCOTT calls it " the first classical collection of Scottish Songs 
 and Ballads." 
 
 * Biographical notice of George Paton, in " Ritson's Letters to Paton," Edinburgh, 
 1829. 
 
 t Historical Essay, Ritson's Scottish Songs, Vol. I. 
 
 1221219
 
 iv NOTE. 
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS remarks that HERD'S compilation shows 
 him to have been a man of equal industry with RAMSAY, and of 
 more antiquarian and classic taste. Besides many of the legend- 
 ary poems which he gathered from oral tradition, CHAMBERS 
 enumerates fifty-four Songs of "great merit," which HERD noted 
 down from recitation, and which might otherwise have been lost. 
 
 Moreover, and what may be more to the purpose, in the 
 estimation of the antiquary and the curious, in CHAMBERS' s Songs 
 and Ballads of Scotland, the editor, designing his collection for 
 " the tasteful, the fair, and the young," apologises for the 
 "violation" of excluding entire pieces, and "silently omitted 
 passages," by saying, that the Songs are to be found, "in all 
 their native beauty, in the collections of RAMSAY and HERD." 
 
 AYTOUN (Ballads of Scotland) remarks that DAVID HERD, as 
 a collector, was fortunately a man of a very different stamp from 
 ALLAN RAMSAY that he contented himself with faithfully pre- 
 serving such remnants of the floating minstrelsy and song as he 
 could procure, either from tradition or from manuscript. 
 
 That this re-issue may be complete, there are added, in the 
 form of an Appendix, all the pieces substituted in the edition of 
 1791 for those omitted of the 1776 edition; also, one Ballad 
 contained in the first edition, 1 769, in one volume, and not con- 
 tained in the later editions. The edition of I79I> published by 
 Lawrie and Symington, Edinburgh, is characterised as a mere 
 reprint of that of 1776; but besides the omissions from the latter 
 (forty-one in all), there is considerable variation in the ortho- 
 graphy, and most of the few Notes inserted by HERD are 
 omitted. The versions of Auld Robin Grey are so different that 
 both are given. Altogether, the edition of 1791 can hardly be 
 considered a reprint of HERD. 
 
 The student of Scottish ballad lore will find in HERD'S 
 collection the germs of many of BURNS'S imperishable lyrics. 
 
 Although the high price which these volumes bring at 
 public auction proves them to be scarce, it by no means follows 
 that there is a wide-spread desire to possess them. It is believed, 
 however, that there are many who, from antiquarian motives, 
 will not think ill-timed a limited issue of this reprint, faithfully 
 transcribed from the best edition; and, perhaps, more 
 
 " Who love a ballad in print," 
 
 And hold that, 
 
 " Thotigh old wrytynpes apere to be rude, 
 
 Yet notwithstandynge, they do include 
 The pytlie of a mater most fructuously." 
 
 R- 
 
 GLASGOW, 1869.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN 
 
 SCOTTISH SONGS, 
 
 HEROIC BALLADS, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOLUME the FIRST. 
 
 The garb our Mufes wore in former years. 
 
 HAMILTON. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 Printed by JOHN WOTHERSPOON, 
 
 FOR 
 
 JAMES DICKSON and CHARLES ELLIOT, 
 MDCCLXXVT.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 'T 1 H E common popular fongs and national 
 mufic, as they form a favourite entertain- 
 ment of the Gay and the Chearful, feem like- 
 wife to merit fome regard from the Speculative 
 and Refined, in fo far as they exhibit natural and 
 ftriking traits of the character, genius, tafte and 
 purfuits of the people. And trivial as his idea 
 of a fong may be, the ftatefman has often felt 
 this paultry engine affecting the machine of go- 
 vernment ; and thofe who are verfant in hiftory 
 can produce inftances of popular fongs and bal- 
 lads having been rendered fubfervient to great 
 revolutions both in church and ftate. 
 
 Every nation, at leaft every ancient and un- 
 mixed nation, hath its peculiar ftyle of mufical 
 expreffion, its peculiar mode of melody; modu- 
 lated by the joint influence of climate and govern- 
 ment, character and fituation, as well as by the 
 formation of the organs. Thus each of the 
 ftates of ancient Greece had its characteriftic ftyle 
 of mufic, the Doric, the Phrygian, the Lydian 
 mood, &c., and thus the moderns have their di- 
 ftinct national ftyles, the Italian, the Spanifh, the 
 Trim, and the Scottifh. That predilection fo na- 
 tural for every production of one's own country, 
 a 3
 
 vi PREFACE. 
 
 together with the force of habit, a certain enthu- 
 fiafm, attendant on mufic, and perhaps fometimes 
 the principle of affociation, whereby other agree- 
 able ideas are mingled and always called up to the 
 mind together with the mufical air, has ever in- 
 duced people to prefer their own national mufic to 
 that of all others : and we are feldom at a lofs for 
 arguments in fupport of this real or fancied pre- 
 eminence. Strongly biaffed, however, as our 
 judgments muft be by the powerful prejudices 
 mentioned above, it would feem that the queftion 
 concerning the comparative merit of the refpec- 
 tive ftyles of national melody is a queftion of 
 much difficulty and little importance. 
 
 The Scots yield to none of their neighbours in 
 a paffionate attachment to their native mufic ; in 
 which, to fay the truth, they feem to be juftified 
 by the unbiaffed fuffrage of foreigners of the beft 
 tafte, who have often candidly allowed it a pre- 
 ference to their own. Many ingenious reafons 
 have been afiigned for a diftinction fo agreeable, 
 chiefly drawn from the romantic face of the coun- 
 try, and the vacant, paftoral life of a great part 
 of its inhabitants; circumftances, no doubt, highly 
 favourable to poetry and fong. 
 
 But the editor of thefe little volumes will not 
 hazard a difquifition on this delicate fubjcct, fatif- 
 ficd that it is not in his power to do it juftice, and
 
 PREFACE. vii 
 
 confcious of ftrong prepoffeffions. In general, it 
 may be permitted him to obferve, that the merit 
 both of the poetry and the mufic of the Scots 
 fongs is undoubtedly great ; and that the peculiar 
 fpirit and genius of each is fo admirably adapted 
 to each other, as to produce, when conjoined, the 
 moft enchanting effect on every lover of nature 
 and unaffected fimplicity. For the characterifti- 
 cal excellence of both, he apprehends, is nearly 
 the fame, to wit, a forcible and pathetic fimpli- 
 city, which at once lays ftrong hold on the affec- 
 tions ; fo that the heart itfelf may be confidered 
 as an inftrument, which the bard or minftrel har- 
 monizes, touching all its firings in the moft deli- 
 cate and mafterly manner! Such is the character 
 of the pathetic and fentimental fongs of Scotland, 
 which may with truth be termed, the poetry and 
 the mujic of the heart. There is another fpecies, 
 to wit, the humorous and comic, no lefs admirable 
 for genuine humour, fprightly naivete, picturefque 
 language, and ftriking paintings of low life and 
 comic characters; the mufic whereof is fo well 
 adapted to the fentiment, that any perfon of a 
 tolerable ear upon hearing it, feels a difficulty in 
 reftraining a ftrong propenfity to dance. 
 
 But perhaps too much has been already faid on 
 the fubjecl of thefe volumes. The Editor fhall 
 anticipate the cenfure of the fevere, by confeffmg 
 them a work of flight importance, which hath no
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 higher aim than mere amufement. To magnify, 
 therefore, the importance of the publication by 
 pompous encomiums would juftly fubjecl: him to 
 ridicule. 
 
 It feems proper, however, in this place, to give 
 fome account of the condu6l and arrangement of 
 this collection. It is divided into three parts. 
 The firft is compofed of all the Scottifh ancient 
 and modern Heroic Ballads or Epic Tales, to- 
 gether with fome beautiful fragments of this kind. 
 Many of thefe are recovered from tradition or old 
 MSS. and never before appeared in print. The 
 fecond part confifts of all the Sentimental, Pafto- 
 ral and Love Songs ; and the third is a collection 
 of Comic, Humorous, and Jovial fongs. In thefe 
 two laft, as in the firft part, will be found a num- 
 ber of fongs to favourite Scottifh airs, not hither- 
 to publifhed, and many ftanzas and paffages re- 
 ftored and corrected by collating various ver- 
 fions. 
 
 The Editor hath not attempted to reduce the 
 language to the orthography of the times in 
 which the feveral pieces may be fuppofed to have 
 been written. This was a talk for which he 
 found himfelf unqualified; and which appeared 
 the lefs neceffary, as the collection was not in- 
 tended to be confined to the critical antiquarian, 
 but devoted to the amufement of the public at
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IX 
 
 large. Of many of the fongs in thefe volumes 
 the chief merit will be found to confift in the 
 mufical air, while the poetry may appear much 
 below mediocrity. For this the Editor has no 
 other apology to offer, than that thefe were the 
 only words exifting to the tunes in queftion, the 
 original words which gave rife to thefe tunes be- 
 ing irrecoverably loft. There are, however, 
 many of thefe adopted words to ancient tunes 
 which are by no means liable to this cenfure, be- 
 ing compofed by eminent modern Scots poets ; 
 and the claffical reader may eafily fubftitute more. 
 
 The favourable reception of the firft edition of 
 this collection, and the frequent demands for it 
 fince it has become fcarce, encouraged the Editor 
 to extend and arrange it in the form which it now 
 wears. The reader will find here all the fongs 
 contained in the former edition, with the addition 
 of nearly an equal number. In fine, the Edi- 
 tor hath attempted to compile a more compleat 
 and better arranged collection of Scottifh fongs 
 than any hitherto publifhed : with what fuccefs, 
 the candid public will determine.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 HEROIC BALLADS 
 
 AND 
 
 F R A G M E N T S.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 HEROIC BALLADS, 
 
 AND 
 
 F R A G M E N T S. 
 
 GIL MORRICE*. 
 
 GIL M O R R I C E was an erle's fon, 
 His name it waxed wide : 
 It was nae for his great riches, 
 Nor zet his meikle pride ; 
 Bot it was for a lady gay, 
 That livd on Carron fide. 
 
 Quhair fall I get a bonny boy, 
 
 That will win hoes and fhoen ; 
 That will gae to Lord BARNARDS ha', 
 
 And bid his lady cum? 
 And ze maun rin errand, WILLIE, 
 
 And ze maun rin wi' pride; 
 Quhen other boys gae on their foot, 
 
 On horfe-back ze fall ride. 
 
 Oh no ! oh no ! my mafler dear ! 
 
 I dar nae for my life ; 
 I'll no gae to the bauld barons, 
 
 For to tried furth his wife. 
 
 * On this ballad the Tragedy of DOUGLAS is founded. 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 My bird WILLIE, my boy WILLIE; 
 
 My dear WILLIE, he fayd : 
 How can ze ftrive againfl the flream? 
 
 For I (hall be obey'd. 
 
 Bot, O my matter dear ! he cry'd, 
 
 In grene wod ze're zour lain ; 
 Gi owre fie thochts, I wald ze rede, 
 
 For fear ze mould be tain. 
 Hafte, hafle, I fay, gae to the ha', 
 
 Bid hir cum here wi' fpeid : 
 If ze refufe my high command, 
 
 I'll gar zour body bleid. 
 
 Gae bid hir tak this gay mantel, 
 
 Tis a' gowd but the hem ; 
 Bid hir cum to the gude grene wode, 
 
 And bring nane bot hir lain : 
 And there it is, a filken farke, 
 
 Hir ain hand fewd the flieve ; 
 And bid hir come to GIL M o R R i c E, 
 
 Speir nae bauld barons leave. 
 
 Yes, I will gae zour black errand, 
 
 Though it be to zour coft ; 
 Sen ze by me will nae be warn'd, 
 
 In it ze fall find froft. 
 The baron he's a man of might, 
 
 He neir could bide to taunt, 
 As ze will fee before its night, 
 
 How fma' ze hae to vaunt. 
 
 And fen I maun zour errand rin 
 Sae fair againfl my will,
 
 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 I'fe mak a vow and keip it trow, 
 
 It fall be done for ill. 
 And quhen he came to Broken brigue, 
 
 He bent his bow and fwam ; 
 And when he came to grafs growing, 
 
 Set down his feet and ran. 
 
 And when he came to BARNARDS ha', 
 
 Would neither chap nor ca' ; 
 Bot fet his bent bow to his brieft, 
 
 And lightly lap the wa'. 
 He wad nae tell the man his errand, 
 
 Though he ftude at the gait ; 
 Bot ftraight into the ha' he cam, 
 
 Quhair they were fet at meit. 
 
 Hail ! hail ! my gentle fire and dame ! 
 
 My meffage winna waite ; 
 Dame, ze maun to the gude grene wod 
 
 Before that it be late. 
 Ze're bidden tack this gay mantel, 
 
 Tis a' gowd bot the hem : 
 Zou man gae to the gude green wode, 
 
 Ev'n by yourfel alane. 
 
 And there it is, a filken farke, 
 
 Your ain hand fewd the fleive ; 
 Ze maun gae fpeik to GIL MORRICE 
 
 Speir nae bauld barons leive. 
 The lady ftamped wi' hir foot, 
 
 And winked wi' her ee ; 
 Bot a' that me cou'd fay or do, 
 
 Forbidden he wad nae bee. 
 A 2
 
 4 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Its furely to my bowr- woman ; 
 
 It neir could be to me. 
 I brought it to Lord BARNARDS lady ; 
 
 I trow that ze be me. 
 Then up and fpack the wylie nurfe, 
 
 (The bairn upon her knee), 
 If it be cum from GIL MORRICE, 
 
 Its dear welcum to mee. 
 
 Ze leid, ze leid, ye filthy nurfe, 
 
 Sae loud's I heire ze lee ; 
 I brought it to Lord BARNARDS lady ; 
 
 I trow ze be nae mee. 
 
 Then up and fpack the bauld baron, 
 
 An angry man was hee ; 
 He's tain the table wi' his foot, 
 
 Sae has he wi' his knee ; 
 Till filver cup and ezar dim 
 
 In flinders he gard flee. 
 
 Gae bring a robe of zour eliding, 
 
 That hings upon the pin ; 
 And I'll gae to the gude grene wode, 
 
 And fpeik wi' zour lemman, 
 O bide at hame, now Lord BARNARD, 
 
 I warde ze bide at hame ; 
 Neir wyte a man for violence, 
 
 That neir wyte ze wi' nane. 
 
 GIL M o R R i c E fat in gude grene wode, 
 
 He whiflled and he fang : 
 O what means a' the folk coming ? 
 
 My mother tarries lang.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 His hair was like the threds of gold, 
 Drawn from MINERVAS loome : 
 
 His lips like rofes drapping dew, 
 His breath was a perfume. 
 
 His brow was like the mountain fna 
 
 Gilt by the morning beam; 
 His cheiks like living rofes glow: 
 
 His een like azure ftream. 
 The boy was clad in robes of grene, 
 
 Sweet as the infant fpring: 
 And like the Mavis on the bum, 
 
 He gart the vallies ring. 
 
 The baron came to the grene wode, 
 
 Wi' muckle dule and care, 
 And there he firft fpied GIL MORRICE, 
 
 Kaiming his zellow hair, 
 That fweetly waved round his face, 
 
 That face beyond compare : 
 He fang fae fweet it might difpel 
 
 A' rage but fell difpair. 
 
 Nae wonder, nae wonder, GIL MORRICE, 
 
 My lady loed thee weel : 
 The faireft part of my body 
 
 Is blacker than thy heel. 
 Zet neir-the-lefs now, GIL MORRICE, 
 
 For a' thy great bewty, 
 Ze's rew the day ze eir was born ; 
 
 That head fall gae wi' me. 
 
 Now he has drawn his trufly brand, 
 And flaked on the ftrae;
 
 6 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And thro' GIL MORRICE' fair body 
 
 He's gard cauld iron gae. 
 And he has tain GIL MORRICE' head, 
 
 And fet it on a fpeir : 
 The meanefl man in a' his train 
 
 Has gotten that head to bear. 
 
 And he has tain GIL MORRICE up, 
 
 Laid him acrofs his fleid, 
 And brought him to his painted bowr, 
 
 And laid him on a bed. 
 The lady fat on caflil wa', 
 
 Beheld baith dale and doun ; 
 And there me faw GIL MORRICE' head 
 
 Cum trailing to the toun. 
 
 Far better I loe that bluidy head, 
 
 Bot and that zellow hair, 
 Than Lord BARNARD and a' his lands, 
 
 As they lig here and thair. 
 And me has tain hir GIL MORRICE, 
 
 And kifs'd baith mouth and chin : 
 I was ance as fow of GIL MORRICE, 
 
 As the hip is o' the stean. 
 
 I got ze in my father's houfe, 
 
 Wi' mickle fin and fhame; 
 I brocht ze up in gude grene wode, 
 
 Under the heavy rain : 
 Oft have I by thy craddle fitten, 
 
 And fondly feen thee fleip ; 
 Bot now I gae about thy grave, 
 
 The faut tears for to weip.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And fyne me kifs'd his bluidy cheik, 
 And fyne his bluidy chin : 
 
 better I loe my GIL MORRICE 
 Than a' my kith and kin ! 
 
 Away, away, ze ill woman, 
 
 And an ill deith mait ze dee : 
 Gin I had kend he'd been zour fon, 
 
 He'd neir been flain for mee. 
 
 Obraid me not, my Lord BARNARD! 
 
 Obraid me not for fhame ! 
 Wi that fame fpeir O pierce my heart ! 
 
 And put me out o' pain. 
 Since naething but GIL MORRICE head 
 
 Thy jealous rage could quell, 
 Let that faim hand now tack hir life, 
 
 That neir to thee did ill. 
 
 To me nae after days nor nichts 
 
 Will eir be faft or kind; 
 I'll fill the air with heavy fighs, 
 
 And greet till I am blind. 
 Enouch of blude by me's bin fpiit, 
 
 Seek not zour death frae mee; 
 
 1 rather lourd it had been my fel 
 Than eather him or thee. 
 
 With waefo wae I hear zour plaint; 
 
 Sair, fair I rew the deid, 
 That eir this curfed hand of mine 
 
 Had gard his body bleid. 
 Dry up zour tears, my winfom dame ; 
 
 Ze neer can heal the wound ;
 
 8 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Ze fee his head upon the fpeir, 
 His heart's blude on the ground. 
 
 I curfe the hand that did the deid, 
 
 The heart that thocht the ill; 
 The feet that bore me wi' fie fpeid, 
 
 The comely zouth to kill. 
 I'll ay lament for GIL M o R R i c E, 
 
 As gin he were my ain; 
 I'll neir forget the driery day 
 
 On which the zouth was flain. 
 
 EDOM o' GORDON. 
 
 TT fell about the Martinmas, 
 
 Quhen the wind blew fchrill and cauld, 
 Said EDOM o' Gordon to his men, 
 We maun draw to a hauld : 
 
 And what a hauld fall we draw to, 
 
 My mirry men and me? 
 We waul gae to the houfe o' the Rhodes, 
 
 To fee that fair ladie. 
 
 The ladie flude on her caftle wa', 
 
 Beheld baith dale and down; 
 There me was ware of a hoft of men 
 
 Cum ryding towards the toun. 
 
 O fee ze not, my mirry men a'? 
 
 fee ze not quhat I fee? 
 Methinks I fee a hoft of men : 
 
 1 merveil quhat they be. 
 
 She weend it had been hir luvely lord, 
 As he came riding hame ;
 
 SCOTS SON G S. 
 
 It was the traitor E D o M o' Gordon, 
 Quha reckt nae fin nor fhame. 
 
 She had nae fooner bufkit herfel, 
 
 And putten on hir goun, 
 Till E D o M o' Gordon and his men 
 
 Were round about the toun. 
 
 They had nae fooner fupper fett, 
 
 Nae fooner faid the grace, 
 Till E D o M o' Gordon and his men 
 
 Were light about the place. 
 
 The lady ran up to hir towir head, 
 
 Sae faft as me could drie, 
 To fee if by hir fair fpeeches 
 
 She could wi' him agree. 
 
 But quhan he fee this lady faif 
 
 And hir yates all locked fall, 
 He fell into a rage of wrath, 
 
 And his hart was all aghafl. 
 
 Cum down to me, ze lady gay, 
 
 Cum doun, cum doun to me : 
 This night fall ye lig within mine arms, 
 
 To-morrow my bride fall be. 
 
 I winnae cum doun, ze fals GORDON, 
 
 I winnae cum doun to thee ; 
 I winnae forfake my ain dear lord, 
 
 That is fae far from me. 
 
 Give owre zour houfe, ze lady fair, 
 
 Give owre zour houfe to me, 
 Or I fall brenn yourfel therein, 
 
 Bot and zour babies three.
 
 io SCOTS SONGS 
 
 I winnae give owre, ze fals GORDON, 
 
 To nae fie traitor as zee ; 
 And if ze brenn my ain dear babes, 
 
 My lord fall make ze drie. 
 
 But reach my piftol, G L A u D, my man, 
 
 And charge ze weil my gun : 
 For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher, 
 
 My babes we been undone. 
 
 She flude upon hir caflle wa, 
 
 And let twa bullets flee : 
 She mifl that bluidy butchers hart, 
 
 And only raz'd his knee. 
 
 Set fire to the house, quo' fals GORDON, 
 
 All wood wi' clule and ire : 
 Fals lady, ze fall rue this deid, 
 
 As ye brenn in the fire. 
 
 Wae worth, wae worth ze, JOCK my man, 
 
 I paid ze weil zour fee ; 
 Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa ftane, 
 
 Lets in the reek to me ? 
 
 And een wae worth ze, Jock my man, 
 
 I paid ze weil zour hire : 
 Quhy pow ze out the ground-wa flane, 
 
 To me lets in the fire ? 
 
 Ze paid me weil my hire, Lady ; 
 
 Ze paid me weil my fee : 
 But now Ime E D o M o' Gordons man. 
 
 Maun either doe or die. 
 
 O than befpack hir little fon, 
 Sate on the nourice' knee :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. ii 
 
 Says, Mither dear, gi owre this house, 
 For the reek it fmithers me. 
 
 I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, 
 
 Sae wad I a' my fee, 
 For ane blafl o' the welllm wind, 
 
 To blaw the reek frae thee. 
 
 O then befpack hir dochtir dear, 
 
 She was baith jimp and fma : 
 O row me in a pair o' meits, 
 
 And tow me owre the wa. 
 
 They rowd hir in a pair o' meits, 
 
 And towd her owre the wa : 
 But on the point of GORDON'S fpeir, 
 
 She gat a deadly fa. 
 
 bonnie bonnie was her mouth, 
 And cherry wer hir cheiks, 
 
 And clear clear was hir zellow hair, 
 Whereon the reid bluid dreips. 
 
 Then wi' his fpear he turn'd hir owre, 
 
 gin her face was wan ! 
 
 He faid, Ze are the firft that eir 
 
 1 wifht alive again. 
 
 He turn'd her owre and owre again, 
 O gin her fkin was whyte ! 
 
 1 might ha fpared that bonny face 
 
 To hae been fum mans delyte. 
 
 Bulk and boun, my merry men a', 
 
 For ill dooms I do guefs ; 
 I cannae luik in that bonnie face, 
 
 As it lyes on the grafs.
 
 12 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Thame luiks to freits, my matter deir, 
 
 Then freits will follow thame : 
 Let it neir be faid brave E D o M o' Gordon 
 
 Was daunted by a dame. 
 
 But quhen the ladye fee the fire 
 
 Cum flaming owre hir head, 
 She wept and kift hir children twain, 
 
 Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead. 
 
 The GORDON then his bougill blew, 
 
 And faid, Awa', awa' ; 
 This houfe o' the Rhodes is a' in flame, 
 
 I hauld it time to ga'. 
 
 O then befpied hir ain dear lord, 
 
 As he cam owre the lee ; 
 He fied his caftle all in blaze, 
 
 Sae far as he could fee. 
 
 Then fair, O fair his mind mifgave, 
 
 And all his hart was wae : 
 Put on, put on, my wighty men, 
 
 Sae faft as ze can gae ; 
 
 Put on, put on, my wighty men, 
 
 Sae faft as /e can drie ; 
 For he that is hindmoft of the thrang, 
 
 Sail neir get guide o' me. 
 
 Than fum they rade, and fum they rin, 
 
 Fou faft out-owre the bent ; 
 But eir the foremoft could get up, 
 
 Baith lady and babes were brent. 
 
 He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 
 And wept in teenefu' muid :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 13 
 
 O traitors, for this cruel deid 
 Ze fall weip teirs o' bluid. 
 
 And after the GORDON he is gane, 
 
 Sae fall as he micht drie ; 
 And foon i' the GORDON'S foul hartis bluid, 
 
 He's wroken his dear ladie. 
 
 JOHNIE ARMSTRANG. 
 
 CUM fpeiks of lords, fum fpeiks of lairds, 
 
 And ficklike men of hie degrie ; 
 Of a gentleman I fmg a fang, 
 
 Sumtyme cal'd Laird of Gilnockie. 
 The king he wrytes a luving letter 
 
 Wi' his ain hand fae tenderlie, 
 And he hath fent it to JOHNY ARMSTRANG, 
 
 To cum and fpeik with him fpeedily. 
 
 The ELLIOTS and ARMSTRANGS did convene ; 
 
 They were a gallant companie : 
 We'll ryde and meit our lawfull king, 
 
 And bring him fafe to Gilnockie. 
 Make kinnen and capon ready then, 
 
 And venifon in great plentie ; 
 We'll welcum hame our royal king, 
 
 I hope he'll dyne at Gilnockie. 
 
 They ran their horfe on the Langum Hawn, 
 And brake their fpeirs with meikle main ; 
 
 The ladys lukit frae their loft windows, 
 God bring our men well back again. 
 VOL. I. B
 
 14 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Quhen J o H N Y came before the King, 
 With all his men fae brave to fee, 
 
 The King he movit his bonnet to him, 
 He weind he was a king as well as he. 
 
 May I find grace, my fovereign Liege, 
 Grace for my loyal men and me, 
 
 For my name it is J o H N I E A R M s T R A N o 
 And fubject of zours, my Liege, faid he. 
 
 Aiuay, away, thou tray tor ftrang, 
 Out of my ficht thou mayftfune be, 
 
 I grant it nevir a traytor's fyfe, 
 And now I'll not begin with thee. 
 
 Grant me my lyfe, my Liege, my King, 
 
 And a bonny gift I will gi' to thee, 
 Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt fleids, 
 
 Were a' foald in a zeir to me. 
 I'll gie thee all thefe milk-whyt fleids, 
 
 That prance and nicher at a fpeir, 
 With as meikle gude Inglis gilt, 
 
 As four of their braid backs dow beir. 
 
 Away, away, thou traytor, etc. 
 
 Grant me my life, my Liege, my King, 
 
 And a bonny gift I '11 gie to thee, 
 Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills, 
 
 That gang throw a' the zeir to me. 
 Thefe four-and-twenty mills complete, 
 
 Sail gang for thee throw a' the zeir, 
 And as meikle of gude reid quheit, 
 
 As all thair happers dow to beir. 
 
 Away, away, 1hc,u traytor, etc.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Grant me my lyfe, my Liege, my King, 
 
 And a great gift I'll gie to thee, 
 Bauld four-and-twenty fisters sons, 
 
 Sail for thee fecht tho' a' fould flee. 
 Away, away, thou tray tor, etc. 
 
 Grant me my lyfe, my Liege, my King, 
 And a brave gift I'll gie to thee ; 
 
 All between heir and Newcaftle town, 
 Sail pay thair zeirly rent to thee. 
 A way, away, thou tray tor, etc. 
 
 Ze lied, ze lied now, King, he says, 
 
 Althocht a King and prince ze be ; 
 For I luid naithing in all my lyfe, 
 
 I dare well fay it, but honefty : 
 But a fat horfe and a fair woman, 
 
 Twa bonny dogs to kill a deir ; 
 But Ingland fuld haif fund me meil and mat, 
 
 Gif I had livd this hundred zeir. 
 
 Scho fuld haif fund me meal and malt, 
 
 And beef and mutton in all plentie ; 
 But neir a Scots wyfe coud haif faid, 
 
 That eir I fkaithd her a pure flie. 
 To feik het water beneath cauld yce, 
 
 Surely it is a great folie ; 
 I haif afked grace at a gracelefs face, 
 
 But there is nane for my men and me. 
 
 But had I kend or I cam frae hame, 
 How thou unkind wadft bene to me. 
 
 I wad haif kept the border-fyde, 
 In fpyte of all thy force and thee. 
 B 2
 
 16 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Wift Ingland's king that I was tane, 
 
 gin a blyth man wad he be ; 
 For ance I flew his fitters fon, 
 
 And on his briefl-bane brak a trie. 
 
 JOHN wore a girdle abut his middle, 
 
 Imbroidred owre with burning gold, 
 Befpangled with the fame mettle, 
 
 Maifl bewtiful was to behold. 
 Ther hang nine targats at J o H N I E s hat, 
 
 And ilka ane worth thrie hundred pound : 
 What wants that knave that a Kingfuld have, 
 
 But the f word of honour and the crown. 
 
 quhar got thou thefe targats, J o H N I E, 
 That blink fae b rawly abune thy brie! 
 
 1 gat them in the fild fechting 
 
 Quher, cruel King, thou durft not be. 
 Had I my horfe and my harnefs gude, 
 
 And ryding as I wont to be, 
 It fuld haif bene tald this hundred zeir, 
 
 The meiting of my king and me. 
 
 God be wi' thee, K i R s T Y, my brither, 
 
 Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun ; 
 Lang mayeft thou dwell on the border-fyde, 
 
 Or thou fe thy brither ryde up and doun : 
 And God be wi' thee, K i R s T Y, my fon, 
 
 Quhair thou fits on thy nurfes nee ; 
 But and thou live this hundred zeir, 
 
 Thy fathers better thoult never be. 
 
 Farweil, my bonny Gilnockhall, 
 
 Quhair on Efk fyde thou {landed (lout : 
 Gif I had lieved but feven zeirs mair, 
 
 1 wuld haif gilt thee round about.
 
 SCOTS SON G S. 17 
 
 JOHN murdred was at Carlinrigg, 
 
 And all his gallant companie ; 
 But Scotland's heart was neir fo wae, 
 
 To fee fae mony brave men die. 
 
 Becaufe they favd their country deir 
 
 Frae Inglifhmen ; nane were fae bald, 
 Quhyle J o H N I E livd on the border-fyde, 
 
 Nane of them durft cum neir his hald. 
 
 Young WATERS. 
 
 ABOUT Zule, quhen the wind blew cule, 
 
 And the round tables began, 
 A' ! ther is cum to our king's curt 
 Mony a well-favourd man. 
 
 The Quein luikt owre the caftle wa, 
 
 Beheld baith dale and down, 
 And then me faw zoung WATERS 
 
 Cum ryding to the town. 
 
 His footmen they did rin before, 
 
 His horfemen rade behind, 
 And mantel of the burning gowd 
 
 Did keip him frae the wind. 
 
 Gowden graith'd his horfe before, 
 
 And filler mod behind ; 
 The horfe zoung WATERS rade upon 
 
 Was fleeter than the wind. 
 
 But then fpack a wylie lord, 
 Unto the Queen faid he,
 
 18 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 O tell me quha's the fairefl face 
 Rides in the companie? 
 
 I've feen lord, and I've feen laird, 
 
 And knights of high degree; 
 Bot a fairer face than zoung WATERS 
 
 Mine eyne did never fee. 
 
 Out then fpack the jealous King, 
 
 (And an angry man was he), 
 O if he had been twice as fair, 
 
 Zou might have excepted me. 
 
 Zou're neither laird nor lord, me fays, 
 Bot the King that wears the crown ; 
 
 Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland 
 But to thee maun bow down. 
 
 For a' that me coud do or fay, 
 
 Appeas'd he wadnae be; 
 Bot for the words which me had faid, 
 
 Zoung WATERS he maun die. 
 
 They hae taen zoung WATERS, and 
 
 Put fetters on his feet ; 
 They hae taen zoung WATERS, and 
 
 Thrown him in dungeon deep. 
 
 Aft I have ridden thru Stirling towne 
 In the wind bot and the weit, 
 
 Bot I neir rade thru Stirling towne 
 Wi' fetters at my feit. 
 
 Aft I have ridden thru Stirling towne 
 In the wind bot and the rain, 
 
 Bot I neir rade thru Stirling towne 
 Neir to return again.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 19 
 
 They hae taen to the heiding hill 
 
 His zoung fon in his craddle, 
 And they hae taen to the heiding hill 
 
 His horfe hot and his faddle : 
 
 They hae taen to the heiding hill 
 
 His lady fair to fee : 
 And for the words the Queen had fpoke, 
 
 Zoung WATERS he did dee. 
 
 Bonny BARBARA ALLAN. 
 
 TT was in and about the Martinmas time, 
 
 When the green leaves were a falling, 
 That Sir JOHN G R & M E in the weft countrie 
 Fell in love with BARBARA ALLAN. 
 
 He fent his man down thro' the town, 
 To the place where fhe was dwelling: 
 
 O hafte and cum to my mafter dear, 
 Gin ye be BARBARA ALLAN. 
 
 O hooly, hooly rofe fhe up, 
 
 To the place where he was lying, 
 And when fhe drew the curtin by, 
 
 Young man, I think youre dying. 
 
 O its I'm fick, and very very fick, 
 And 'tis a' for BARBARA ALLAN. 
 
 O the better for me ye's never be, 
 
 Tho" your heart's blood were a fpilling. 
 
 O dinna ye mind, young man, faid fhe, 
 When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
 
 20 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 That ye made the healths gae round and round, 
 And flighted BARBARA ALLAN? 
 
 He turn'd his face into the wa', 
 
 And death was with him dealing, 
 Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a', 
 
 And be kind to BARBBRA ALLAN. 
 
 And flowly, flowly raife fhe up, 
 
 And flowly, flowly left him; 
 And fighing, faid, fhe cou'd not (lay, 
 
 Since death of life had reft him. 
 
 She had nae gane a mile but twa, 
 When fhe heard the deid-bell ringing, 
 
 And ev'ry jow that the deid-bell geid, 
 It cry'd, Woe to BARBARA ALLAN! 
 
 O mother, mother, mak my bed, 
 
 O make it faft and narrow; 
 Since my luve died for me to-day, 
 
 I'll die for him to-morrow. 
 
 Bonny Earl of MURRAY*. 
 
 "V" E Highlands and ye Lawlands, 
 Oh ! where have you been? 
 They have flain the Earl of MURRAY, 
 And they have laid him on the green ! 
 They have, etc. 
 
 * James VI. being jealous of an attachment betwixt his 
 Queen, Anne of Denmark and this Earl of Murray, the hand- 
 somest man of his time, prevailed with the Marquis of Huntley, 
 his enemy, to murder him; and by a writing under his own 
 hand, promised to save him harmless. BURNET.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 21 
 
 Now wae be to thee, H u N x L Y, 
 
 And wherefore did you fae ? 
 I bade you bring him wi' you, 
 
 But forbade you him to flay. 
 I bade, etc. 
 
 He was a bra gallant, 
 
 And he rid at the ring ; 
 And the bonny Earl of MURRAY, 
 
 Oh ! he might have been a king. 
 And the, etc. 
 
 He was a bra gallant, 
 
 And he play'd at the ba' : 
 And the bonny Earl of M u R R A Y 
 
 Was the flour amang them a'. 
 And the, etc. 
 
 He was a bra gallant, 
 
 And he play'd at the gluve : 
 And the bonny Earl of MURRAY, 
 
 Oh ! he was the queen's luve. 
 Arid the, etc. 
 
 Oh ! lang will his lady 
 
 Look oer the caftle Down, 
 Ere fhe fee the Earl of MURRAY 
 
 Cum founding through the town. 
 
 The young Laird of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 r\ LISTEN, gude peopell, to my tale, 
 
 Liflen to quhat I tell to thee, 
 The King has taiken a poor prifoner, 
 The wanton Laird of OCHILTRIE.
 
 22 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Quhen news came to our guidly Queen, 
 She ficht, and faid right mournfullie, 
 
 quhat will cum of Lady MARGARET, 
 Quha beirs fick luve to OCHILTRIE? 
 
 Lady MARGARET tore hir yallow hair, 
 Quhen as the Queen told hir the faim : 
 
 1 wis that I had neir bin bom, 
 
 Nor neir had known OCHILTRIES naim. 
 
 Fie na, quoth the Queen, that maunna be, 
 
 Fie na, that maunna be ; 
 I'll fynd ze out a better way 
 
 To faif the lyfe of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 The Queen fche trippet up the flair, 
 
 And lowly knielt upon hir knie : 
 The firfl boon quhich I cum to craive 
 
 Is the life of gentel OCHILTRIE. 
 
 O if you had afkd me caftels and towirs, 
 I wad hae gin thaim, twa or thrie ; 
 
 Bot a' the monie in fair Scotland 
 
 Winna buy the lyfe of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 The Queen fche trippet down the flair, 
 And down fche gade richt mournfullie, 
 
 It's a' the monie in fair Scotland 
 
 Winna buy the lyfe of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 Lady MARGARET tore her yallow hair, 
 Quhen as the Queen tald hir the faim ; 
 
 I'll tack a knife and end my lyfe, 
 And be in the grave affoon as him. 
 
 Ah ! na, fie ! na, quoth the Queen, 
 Fie ! na, fie ! na, this maunna be ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 23 
 
 I'll fet ze on a better way 
 
 To loofe and fet O c H i L T R i E frie. 
 
 The Queen me flippet up the flair, 
 
 And fche gaid up richt privatlie, 
 And fche has ftoun the prifon-keys, 
 
 And gane and fet O c H i L x R i E frie. 
 
 And fches gien him a purfe of gowd, 
 
 And another of whyt monie, 
 Sches gien him twa piftoles by's fide, 
 
 Saying to him, Shute quhen ze win frie. 
 
 And quhen he cam to the Queens window, 
 
 Quhaten a joyfou mute gae he ! 
 Peace be to our royal Queen, 
 
 And peace be in her companiel 
 
 O quhaten a voice is that? quoth the King, 
 
 Quhaten a voice is that? quoth he, 
 Quhatten a voice is that? quoth the King; 
 
 I think its the voyce of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 Call to me a' my gaolours, 
 
 Call thaim by thirtie and by thrie ; 
 Quhairfor the morn at twelve a clock 
 
 Its hangit fchall they ilk ane be. 
 
 O didna ze fend zour keyis to us? 
 
 Ze fent thaim be thirtie and be thrie, 
 And wi thaim fent a ftrait command, 
 
 To fet at lairge zoung OCHILTRIE. 
 
 Ah ! na, fie ! na, quoth the Queen, 
 
 Fie, my dear luve ! this maunna be : 
 And iff ye're gawn to hang thaim a', 
 
 Indeed ze maun begin wi me.
 
 24 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 The tane was fchippit at the pier of Leith, 
 The ither at the Queensferrie ; 
 
 And now the Lady has gotten hir luve, 
 The winfom Laird of OCHILTRIE. 
 
 Lord THOMAS and Fair AN NET. 
 
 T ORD THOMAS and fair ANNEX 
 
 Sat a' day on a hill ; 
 Whan nicht was cum, and fun was fett, 
 They had not talkt their fill. 
 
 Lord THOMAS faid a word in jefl, 
 
 Fair A N N E T took it ill ; 
 A' ! I wull nevir wed a wife 
 
 Againfl my ain friends wull. 
 
 Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, 
 
 A wife wull neir wed yee. 
 Sae he is hame to tell his mither, 
 
 And knelt upon his knee : 
 
 O rede, O rede, mither, he fays, 
 
 A gude rede gie to mee : 
 O fall I tak the nut-browne bride, 
 
 And let fair ANNEX bee? 
 
 The nut-browne bride has gowd and gear, 
 
 Fair ANNEX me 'as gat nane ; 
 And the little bewtie fair ANNEX haes, 
 
 O it wull foon be gane ! 
 
 And he has till his brither gane : 
 Now, brither, rede ye mee ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 25 
 
 A' ! fall I marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 And let fair ANNEX bee? 
 
 The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, 
 
 The nut-browne bride has kye ; 
 I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 
 And call fair ANNEX bye. 
 
 Her oxen may dye i' the houfe, Billie, 
 
 And her kye into the byre ; 
 And I fall hae naething to myfell 
 
 Bot a fat fadge by the fyre. 
 
 And he has till his fitter gane : 
 
 Now, fifter, rede ye me ; 
 O fall I marrie the nut-browne bride, 
 
 And fet fair ANNEX free ? 
 
 Ife rede ye tak fair ANNEX, THOMAS, 
 
 And let the browne bride alane ; 
 Left ye fould figh, and fay, Alace ! 
 
 What is this we brought hame ? 
 
 No, I wull tak my mithers counfel, 
 
 And marrie owt o' hand ; 
 And I wull tak the nut-browne bride ; 
 
 Fair ANNEX may leive the land. 
 
 Up then rofe fair A N N E x s father 
 
 Twa hours or it wer day, 
 And he is gane into the bower 
 
 Wherein fair ANNEX lay. 
 
 Rife up, rife up, fair ANNEX, he fays, 
 Put on your filken fheene ; 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Let us gae to St Maries kirke, 
 And fee that rich wedden. 
 
 My maides, gae to my dreffing-room, 
 
 And drefs to me my hair ; 
 Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, 
 
 See yee lay ten times main 
 
 My maides, gae to my dreffing-roome, 
 
 And drefs to me my fmock ; 
 The one half is o' the holland fine, 
 
 The other o' neidle-work. 
 
 The horfe fair ANNEX rade upon, 
 
 He amblit like the wind, 
 Wi' filler he was mod before, 
 
 Wi' burning gowd behind. 
 
 Four-and-twenty filler bells 
 
 Wer a' tied till his mane, 
 Wi' yae tift o' the norland wind, 
 
 They tinkled ane by ane. 
 
 Four-and-twenty gay gude knichts 
 
 Rade by fair A N N E T S fide, 
 And four-and-twenty fair ladies, 
 
 As gin me had bin a bride. 
 
 And whan me cam to Maries kirke, 
 
 She fat on Maries ftean ; 
 The cleading that fair ANNEX had on 
 
 It fkinkled in their can. 
 
 And whan me cam into the kirke, 
 
 She fkimmer'd like the fun ; 
 The belt that was aboute her waifl 
 
 Was a' wi' pearles bedone.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 27 
 
 She fat her by the nut-brown e bride, 
 
 And hir een they wer fae clear, 
 Lord T H o M A s he clean forgat the bride, 
 
 When fair ANNEX drew near. 
 
 He had a rofe into his hand, 
 
 He gae it kiffes three, 
 And reaching by the nut-browne bride, 
 
 Laid it on fair A N N E T s knee. 
 
 Up then fpak the nut-browne bride, 
 
 She fpak wi' meikle fpite ; 
 And whair gat ye that rofe-water 
 
 That does mak yee fae white ? 
 
 O I did get the rofe-water 
 
 Whair ye wull neir get nane ; 
 For I did get that very rofe-water 
 
 Into my mither's wame. 
 
 The bride fhe drew a long bodkin 
 
 Frae out her gay head-gear, 
 And ftrake fair ANNEX unto the heart, 
 
 That word fpak nevir main 
 
 Lord THOMAS faw fair ANNEX wex pale, 
 
 And marvelit what mote bee ; 
 Bot whan he faw her dear- hearts blude, 
 
 A' wood-wroth wexed hee. 
 
 He drew his dagger that was fae fharp, 
 
 That was fae fliarp and meet, 
 And drave it into the nut-browne bride, 
 
 That fell deid at his feit. 
 
 Now flay for me, dear ANNEX, he faid, 
 Now ftay, my dear, he cryd ; 
 
 C 2
 
 28 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Then ftrake the dagger untill his heart, 
 And fell deid by hir fide. 
 
 Lord THOMAS was buryd without kirk-wa', 
 Fair ANNEX within the quiere ; 
 
 And o' the tane thair grew a birk, 
 The other a bonny briere. 
 
 And ay they grew, and ay they threw, 
 
 As they wad faine be neare ; 
 And by this ye may ken right weil, 
 
 They wer twa luvers deare. 
 
 Sir PATRICK SPENCE. 
 
 *" 1 1 H E King fits in Dumfermling toune, 
 
 Drinking the blude-reid wine : 
 O quhar wull I get a guid failor, 
 To fail this fchip of mine ? 
 
 Up and fpak an eldern knicht, 
 
 Sat at the kings richt kne : 
 Sir P A T R i c K SPENCE is the beft failor 
 
 That fails upon the fe. 
 
 The King has written a braid letter, 
 
 And fignd it wi' his hand ; 
 And fent it to Sir PATRICK SPENCE, 
 
 Was walking on the fand. 
 
 The nrft line that Sir PATRICK red, 
 
 A loud lauch lauched he : 
 The next line that Sir PATRICK red, 
 
 The teir blinded his ee.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 29 
 
 O quha is this has don this deid, 
 
 This ill deid don to me ; 
 To fend me out this time o' the zeir, 
 
 To fail upon the fe? 
 
 Mak hafle, mak hafte, my mirry men all, 
 
 Our guid fchip fails the morne. 
 O fay na fae, my matter deir, 
 
 For I feir a deadlie ftorme. 
 
 Late late yeftreen I faw the new moone 
 
 Wi' the auld moone in hir arme ; 
 And I feir, I feir, my deir mafter, 
 
 That we wull cum to harme. 
 
 O our Scots nobles wer richt laith 
 
 To weet their cork-heild fhoone ; 
 Bot lang or a' the play were playd, 
 
 They wat thair heads aboone. 
 
 O lang, lang, may thair ladies fit 
 
 Wi' thair fans into their hand, 
 Or eir they fe Sir PATRICK SPENCE 
 
 Cum failing to the land. 
 
 O lang, lang, may thair ladies ftand 
 
 Wi' thair gold kems in their hair, 
 Waiting for thair ain deir lordes, 
 
 For they'll fe thame na mair. 
 
 Haff owre, hafF owre to Aberdour, 
 
 It's fiftie fadom deip : 
 And thair lies guid Sir PATRICK SPENCE, 
 
 Wi' the Scots lordes at his feit. 
 C 3
 
 30 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Sir JAMES the ROSE. 
 
 (~\F all the Scottifh northern chiefs 
 ^^^ Of his high warlike name, 
 The braveft was Sir JAMES the ROSE, 
 A knight of meikle fame. 
 
 His growth was as the tufted fir, 
 That crowns the mountain's brow ; 
 
 And waving o'er his moulders broad, 
 His locks of yallow flew. 
 
 The Chieftain of the brave clan Ross, 
 
 A firm undaunted band ; 
 Five hundred warriors drew the fvvord, 
 
 Beneath his high command. 
 
 In bloody fight thrice had he flood, 
 
 Againfl the Englifh keen ; 
 Ere two and twenty op'ning fprings 
 
 This blooming youth had feen. 
 
 The fair MATILDA dear he lov'd, 
 
 A maid of beauty rare ; 
 Even MARG'RET on the Scottifh throne, 
 
 Was never half fo fair. 
 
 Lang had he woo'd, lang fhe refus'd, 
 With feeming fcorn and pride ; 
 
 Yet aft her eyes confefs'd the love, 
 Her fearful words deny'd. 
 
 At laft fhe blefs'd his well-try'd faith, 
 
 Allow'd his tender claim : 
 She vow'd to him her virgin heart, 
 
 And own'd an equal flame.
 
 SCOT S' SONG. S. 31 
 
 Her father, B u c H A N'S cruel lord, 
 
 Their paffion difapprov'd, 
 And bade her wed Sir J o H N the G R M M E, 
 
 And leave the youth fhe lov'd. 
 
 Ae night they met, as they were wont, 
 
 Deep in a fhady wood, 
 Where on a bank befide the burn, 
 
 A blooming faugh-tree flood. 
 
 Conceal'd among the under-wood, 
 
 The crafty DONALD lay, 
 The brother of Sir J o H N the G R x. M E, 
 
 To hear what they would fay. 
 
 When thus the maid began ; My Sire 
 
 Your paffion difapproves, 
 And bids me wed Sir J o H N the G R & M E ; 
 
 So here muft end our loves. 
 
 My father's will muft be obey'd, 
 
 Nought boots me to withftand : 
 Some fairer maid in beauty's bloom 
 
 Muft blefs thee with her hand. 
 
 MATILDA foon mall be forgot, 
 
 And from thy mind defac'd : 
 But may that happinefs be thine 
 
 Which I can never tafte. 
 
 What do I hear? is this thy vow? 
 
 Sir J A M E s the ROSE reply'd ; 
 And will MATILDA wed the G R M M E, 
 
 Though fworn to be my bride? 
 
 His fword mall fooner pierce my heart 
 Than reave me of thy charms.
 
 32 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Then clafp'd her to his beating bread, 
 Fad lock'd into his arms. 
 
 I fpake to try thy love, (he faid ; 
 
 I'll ne'er wed man but thee ; 
 My grave mail be my bridal bed, 
 
 Ere G R M M E my husband be. 
 
 Take then, dear youth, this faithful kifs, 
 
 In witnefs of my troth ; 
 And every plague become my lot 
 
 That day I break my oath ! 
 
 They parted thus : the fun was fet : 
 
 Up hafty DONALD flies ; 
 And, Turn thee, turn thee, beardlefs youth 
 
 He loud infulting cries. 
 
 Soon turn'd about the fearlefs chief, 
 
 And foon his fword he drew ; 
 For D o N A L D'S blade before his breafl 
 
 Had pierc'd his tartans through. 
 
 " This for my brother's flighted love ; 
 
 His wrongs fit on my arm." 
 Three paces back the youth retir'd, 
 
 And fav'd himfelf frae harm. 
 
 Returning fwift his hand he rear'd 
 Frae DONALD'S head above, 
 
 And thro' the brain and crafhing bones, 
 His fharp-edg'd weapon drove. 
 
 He ftagg'ring reel'd, then tumbled down 
 
 A lump of breathlefs clay : 
 So fall my foes, quo' valiant ROSE, 
 
 And flately ftrode away.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 33 
 
 Thro' the Green-wood he quickly hy'd 
 
 Unto Lord B u c H A N'S hall ; 
 And at MATILDA'S window flood, 
 
 And thus began to call : 
 
 Art thou afleep, MATILDA dear? 
 
 Awake, my love, awake : 
 Thy lucklefs lover on thee calls, 
 
 A long farewell to take. 
 
 For I have flain fierce DONALD GRAEME; 
 
 His blood is on my fword : 
 And diflant are my faithful men, 
 
 Nor can affift their Lord. 
 
 To S K Y I'll now direcl my way, 
 
 Where my twa brothers bide, 
 And raife the valiant of the Ifles 
 
 To combat on my fide. 
 
 O do not fo, the maid replies ; 
 
 With me till morning ftay : 
 For dark and dreary is the night, 
 
 And dangerous the way. 
 
 All night I'll watch you in the park ; 
 
 My faithful page I'll fend, 
 To run and raife the R o s s's clan, 
 
 Their matter to defend. 
 
 Beneath a bum he laid him down, 
 
 And wrapp'd him in his plaid, 
 While trembling for her lover's fate 
 
 At dittance flood the maid. 
 
 Swift ran the page o'er hill and dale, 
 Till in a lowly glen 
 (3)
 
 34 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 He met the furious Sir JOHN GR.*ME 
 With twenty of his men. 
 
 Where go'ft thou, little page ? he faid, 
 
 So late who did thee fend ? 
 I go to raife the ROSE'S clan, 
 
 Their mafter to defend : 
 
 For he hath flain fierce DONALD G R ^E M E 
 
 His blood is on his fword : 
 And far, far diftant are his men, 
 
 That mould affift their Lord. 
 
 And has he flain my brother dear? 
 
 The furious G R JE M E replies. 
 Difhonour blaft my name but he 
 
 By me ere morning dies ! 
 
 Tell me where is Sir JAMES the ROSE? 
 
 I will thee well reward. 
 He fleeps into Lord Buc HAN'S park; 
 
 MATILDA is his guard. 
 
 They fpurr'd their fteeds in furious mood, 
 
 And fcour'd along the lee : 
 They reach'd Lord B u c H A N'S lofty tovv'rs 
 
 By dawning of the day. 
 
 MATILDA flood without the gate ; 
 
 To whom thus G R JE M E did fay, 
 Saw ye Sir JAMES the ROSE lad night ? 
 
 Or did he pafs this way ? 
 
 Laft day at noon, MATILDA faid, 
 Sir JAMES the ROSE pafs'd by : 
 
 He furious prick'd his fweaty fleed, 
 And onward faft did hye :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 35 
 
 By this he is at Edinburgh 
 
 If horfe and man hold good. 
 Your page then lied, who faid he was 
 
 Now fleeping in the wood. 
 
 She wrung her hands, and tore her hair ; 
 
 Brave ROSE, thou art betray'd, 
 And ruin'd by thofe means, me cry'd, 
 
 From whence I hop'd thine aid. 
 
 By this the valiant knight awak'd, 
 
 The virgin's fhrieks he heard ; 
 And up he rofe, and drew his fword, 
 
 When the fierce band appear'd. 
 
 Your fword, laft night, my brother flew ; 
 
 His blood yet dims its mine : 
 And ere the fetting of the fun 
 
 Your blood mall reek on mine. 
 
 You word it well, the chief reply'd, 
 
 But deeds approve the man : 
 Set by your men, and hand to hand 
 
 We'll try what valour can. 
 
 Oft boafting hides a coward-heart ; 
 
 My weighty fword you fear, 
 Which fhone in front in Flowden-field, 
 
 When you kept in the rear. 
 
 With dauntlefs ftep he forward ftrode, 
 
 And dar'd him to the fight : 
 Then G R & M E gave back, and fear'd his arm, 
 
 For well he knew its might. 
 
 Four of his men, the braveft four, 
 Sunk down beneath his fword :
 
 36 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 But ftill he fcorn'd the poor revenge, 
 And fought their haughty lord. 
 
 Behind him bafely came the G R JE M E, 
 
 And wounded him in the fide : 
 Out fpouting came the purple-tide, 
 
 And all his tartans dy'd. 
 
 But yet his fword not quat the grip, 
 
 Nor dropt he to the ground, 
 Till thro' his en'my's heart his fleel 
 
 Had forc'd a mortal wound. 
 
 G R & M E like a tree with wind o'erthrown 
 
 Fell breathlefs on the clay ; 
 And down befide him funk the ROSE, 
 
 And faint and dying lay. 
 
 The fad MATILDA faw him fall : 
 
 fpare his life ! fhe cry'd ; 
 
 Lord B u c H A N'S daughter begs his life, 
 Let her not be denied. 
 
 Her well-known voice the hero heard ; 
 
 He rais'd his death-clos'd eyes, 
 And fix'd them on the weeping maid, 
 
 And weakly thus replies : 
 
 In vain MATILDA begs the life 
 By death's arreil denied : 
 
 My race is run--adieu, my love- 
 Then clos'd his eyes, and died. 
 
 The fword yet warm from his left fide 
 
 With frantic hand fhe drew : 
 I come, Sir J A M E s the ROSE, me cry'd, 
 
 1 come to follow you !
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 37 
 
 She lean'd the hilt againft the ground, 
 
 And bar'd her fnowy breafl ; 
 Then fell upon her lover's face, 
 
 And funk to endlefs rest. 
 
 The Battle of Harlaw* 
 
 Dunidier as I cam throuch, 
 Doun by the hill of Banochie, 
 Alangft the lands of Garioch : 
 Grit pitie was to heir and fe 
 The noys and dulefum hermonie, 
 That evir that dreiry day did daw, 
 
 Cryand the Corynoch on hie, 
 Alas ! alas ! for the Harlaw. 
 
 I marvlit quhat the matter meint, 
 
 All folks war in a fiery fairy : 
 I will nocht qua was fae or freind ; 
 
 Zit quietly I did me carrie. 
 
 But fen the days of auld king H A i R i E, 
 Sic fiaughter was not herde nor fene, 
 
 And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, 
 For biffmefs in Aberdene. 
 
 Thus as I walkit on the way, 
 
 To Inverury as I went, 
 I met a man, and bad him ftay, 
 
 Requeifting him to make me quaint, 
 
 * Fought upon Friday, July 24, 1411, againft Donald of 
 the Ifles. 
 VOL. I. D
 
 38 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Of the beginning and the event, 
 That happenit thair at the Harlaw ; 
 
 Then he entreited me tak tent, 
 And he the truth fould to me fchaw. 
 
 Grit DONALD of the Yles did claim, 
 
 Unto the lands of Ross fum richt, 
 And to the Governour * he came, 
 
 Thaim for to haif gif that he micht ; 
 
 Quha faw his intereft was but flicht : 
 And thairfore anfwerit with difdain ; 
 
 He haflit hame baith day and nicht, 
 And fent nae bodward back again. 
 
 But DONALD richt impatient 
 
 Of that anfwer Duke ROBERT gaif, 
 He vowed to God omnipotent, 
 
 All the hale lands of R o s s to haif, 
 
 Or ells be graithed in his graif. 
 He wald not quat his richt for nocht, 
 
 Nor be abufit lyk a flaif, 
 That bargin fould be deirly bocht. 
 
 Then haiftylie he did command, 
 
 That all his weir-men mould convene, 
 Ilk ane well harnifit frae hand, 
 
 To meit and heir quhat he did mein ; 
 
 He waxit wrath and vowit tein 
 Svveirand he wald furpryfe the North, 
 
 Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, 
 Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth. 
 
 * Robert Duke of Albany, uncle to King James I. The ac- 
 count of this famous battle may be feen in our Scots hiftories.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 39 
 
 Thus with the weir-men of the Yles, 
 
 Quha war ay at his bidding bown, 
 With money maid, with fors and wyls, 
 
 Richt far and neir baith up and doun : 
 
 Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, 
 Allangfl the lands of Rofs he roars, 
 
 And all obey'd at his bandown, 
 Evin frae the North to Suthren fhoars. 
 
 Then all the countrie men did zield ; 
 
 For nae refiftans durft they mak, 
 Nor offer battill in the feild, 
 
 Be fors of arms to beir him bak ; 
 
 Syne they refolvit all and fpak, 
 That befl it was for thair behoif, 
 
 They fould him for thair chiftain tak, 
 Believing weil he did them luve. 
 
 Then he a proclamation maid 
 
 All men to meet at Invernefs, 
 Throw Murray land to mak a raid, 
 
 Frae Arthurfyre unto Speynefs. 
 
 And further mair, he fent exprefs, 
 To fchaw his colours and enfenzie, 
 
 To all and fmdry, mair and lefs, 
 Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie. 
 
 And then throw fair Strathbogie land, 
 
 His purpofe was for to purfew, 
 And quhafoevir durft gainftand, 
 
 That race they mould full fairly rew. 
 
 Then he bade a' his men be trew, 
 And him defend by fors and flicht, 
 D 2
 
 40 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And promift them rewardis anew, 
 And mak them men of mekle micht. 
 
 Without refiflans as he faid, 
 
 Throw all thefe parts he floutly pail, 
 Quhair fum war wae, and fum war glaid, 
 
 But Garioch was all agaft. 
 
 Throw all thefe feilds he fped him faft, 
 For fie a ficht was never fene ; 
 
 And then, forfuith, he langd at laft 
 To fe the bruch of Aberdene. 
 
 To hinder this prowd enterprife, 
 
 The flout and michty erle of M A R R* 
 With all his men in arms did ryfe, 
 
 Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar, 
 
 And down the fyde of Don richt far, 
 Angus and Mearns did all convene 
 
 To fecht, or DONALD came fae nar 
 The royal bruch of Aberdene. 
 
 And thus the martial Erie of M A R R, 
 
 Marcht with his men in richt array, 
 Befoir the enemie was awarr 
 
 His banner bauldly did difplay. 
 
 For weil enewch they kend the way, 
 And all their femblance weil they faw, 
 
 Without all dangir, or delay, 
 Cum haiftily to the Harlaw. 
 
 With him the braif Lord O G I L v Y, 
 Of Angus fherriff principall, 
 
 * Alexander Earl of Mar, fon of Alexander, the governor's 
 brother.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 41 
 
 The conilabill of gude Dunde, 
 
 The vanguard led before them all. 
 
 Suppofe in number they war fmall, 
 Thay firft richt bauldlie did perfew, 
 
 And maid thir faes before them fall, 
 Quha then that race did fairly rew. 
 
 And then the worthy Lord S A L T o N, 
 
 The ftrong undoubted laird of Drum, 
 The ftalwart laird of Lauriftone, 
 
 With ilk thair forces all and fum. 
 
 P A N M u i R with all his men did cum, 
 The provoft of braif Aberdene, 
 
 With trumpets and with tuicke of drum. 
 Came fchortly in thair armour fchene. 
 
 Thefe with the Erie of M A R R came on, 
 
 In the reir-ward richt orderlie, 
 Thair enemies to fet upon ; 
 
 In awful manner hardily, 
 
 Togither vowit to live and die, 
 Since they had marchit mony mylis 
 
 For to fupprefs the tyrannie 
 Of doubted DONALD of the Yles. 
 
 But he in number ten to ane, 
 
 Richt fubtilie alang did ryde, 
 With MALCOMTOSCH and fell MACLEAN, 
 
 Wifh all thair power at thair fyde, 
 
 Prefumeand on thair ftrength and pryde, 
 Without all feir or ony aw, 
 
 Richt bauldlie battil did abyde, 
 Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.
 
 42 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 The armies met, the trumpet founds, 
 
 The dandring drums aloud did tuik, 
 Baith armies byding on the bounds, 
 
 Till ane of them the feild fuid bruik. 
 
 Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk, 
 Fers was the fecht on ilka fyde, 
 
 And on the ground lay mony a bouk 
 Of them that thair did battill byd. 
 
 With doutfum viclorie they dealt, 
 
 The bluidy battill laftit lang, 
 Each man his nibours fors thair felt ; 
 
 The weakeft aft times gat the wrang : 
 
 Thair was nae mowis thair them amang, 
 Naithing was hard but heavy knocks, 
 
 That Echo maid a dulefull fang, 
 Thairto refounding frae the rocks. 
 
 But DONALD'S men at laft gaif back ; 
 
 For they wer all out of array. 
 The Erie of MARR'S men throw them brak, 
 
 Purfewing fharply in thair way, 
 
 Thair enemys to tak or flay, 
 Be dynt of fors to gar them yield, 
 
 Quha war richt blyth to win away, 
 And fae for feirdnefs tint the feild. 
 
 Then DONALD fled, and that full fad, 
 To mountains hich for all his micht ; 
 
 For he and his war all agaft, 
 
 And ran till they war out of ficht ; 
 And fae of R o s s he loft his right, 
 
 Thocht mony men with hem he brocht,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 43 
 
 Towards the Yles fled day and nicht, 
 And all he wan was dearly bocht. 
 
 This is (quod he) the richt report 
 
 Of all that I did hear and knaw, 
 Thocht my difcourfe be fumthing fchort, 
 
 Tak this to be a richt futhe faw ; 
 
 Contrairie God and the king's law, 
 Thair was fpilt mekle Chriflian blude, 
 
 Into the battil of Harlaw, 
 This is the fum, fae I conclude. 
 
 But zit a bonny quhyle abyde, 
 
 And I fall mak thee cleirly ken 
 Quhat flauchter was on ilka fyde, 
 
 Of Lowland and of Highland men, 
 
 Quha for thair awin haif evir bene : 
 Thefe lazie lowns micht weil be fpaird, 
 
 Cheffit lyke deirs into their dens, 
 And gat thair wages for reward. 
 
 M A L c o M T o s H of the clan heid cheif, 
 
 MACLEAN with his grit haughty heid, 
 With all thair fuccour and relief, 
 
 War dulefully dung to the deid : 
 
 And now we are freid of thair feid, 
 They will not lang to cum agen ; 
 
 Thoufands with them without remeid, 
 On DONALD'S fyde that day war (lain. 
 
 And on the other fyde war loft, 
 
 Into the feild that difmal day, 
 Chief men of worth (of mekle coft) 
 
 To be lamentit fair for ay.
 
 44 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 The Lord S A L T o N of Rothemay, 
 A man of micht and meikle main ; 
 
 Grit dolour was for his decay, 
 That fae unhappylie was flam. 
 
 Of the beft men amang them was, 
 
 The gracious gude Lord O G i L v v, 
 The fherriff-principall of Angus ; 
 
 Renownit for truth and equitie, 
 
 For faith and magnanimitie ; 
 He had few fallows in the feild, 
 
 Zet fell by fatal deftinie, 
 For he nae ways wad grant to zield. 
 
 Sir JAMES SCRIMGEOR of Duddap, knicht, 
 
 Grit conflabill of fair Dunde, 
 Unto the duleful deith was dicht, 
 
 The kings chief bannerman was he, 
 
 A valziant man of chevalrie, 
 Quhais predeceffors wan that place 
 
 At Spey, with gude King WILLIAM frie, 
 Gainft MURRAY and MACDUNCANS race. 
 
 Gude SirALLEXANDER IRVING, 
 
 The much renownit laird of Drum, 
 Nane in his days was better fene, 
 
 Quhen they war femblit all and fum ; 
 
 To praife him we fould not be dumm, 
 For valour, witt, and worthynefs, 
 
 To end his days he ther did cum, 
 Quhois ranfom is remeidylefs. 
 
 And thair the knicht of Lauriflon 
 Was flain into his armour fchene,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 45 
 
 And gude Sir ROBERT DAVIDSON, 
 
 Quha provofl was of Aberdene, 
 
 The knicht of Panmure, as was fene, 
 A mortal man in armour bricht, 
 
 Sir THOMAS MURRAY flout and kene, 
 Left to the warld their laft gude nicht. 
 
 Thair was not fen king KENNETH'S days 
 
 Sic ftrange interline crewel flryfe 
 In Scotland fene, as ilk man fays, 
 
 Quhair mony liklie loft thair lyfe ; 
 
 Quhilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, 
 And mony children fatherlefs, 
 
 Quhilk in this realme has been full ryfe : 
 Lord help thefe lands, our wrangs redrefs ! 
 
 In July, on Saint JAMES his even, 
 
 That four and twenty difmal day, 
 Twelve hundred, ten fcore and eleven 
 
 Of zeirs fen Chryft, the futhe to fay ; 
 
 Men will remember as they may, 
 Quhen thus the veritie they knaw, 
 
 And mony a ane may murn for ay, 
 The brim battil of the Harlaw. 
 
 Flodden-Field*. 
 
 T^ROM Spey to the border, was peace and good order, 
 
 The fway of our monarch was mild as the May, 
 Peace he adored, whilk Soudrons abhorred, 
 Our marches they plunder, our wardens they flay. 
 
 * Fought September 9, 1513.
 
 46 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 'Gainft Louis our ally their HENRY did fally, 
 Tho' JAMES but in vain did his herauld advance, 
 Renouncing alliance, and denouncing defiance 
 To Soudrons if langer abiding in France. 
 
 Many were the omens our ruin was coming, 
 E'er the flower of our nation was call'd to array : 
 Our king at devotion St Andrew did caution, 
 And figh'd as with forrow he to him did fay, 
 
 Sir, in this expedition you muft have ambition ; 
 From the company of all women you fhou'd keep away. 
 When the fpeclre this declar'd, it quickly difappear'd ; 
 But where it retired no man could efpy. 
 
 The flowers of the nation were called on their flation, 
 With valiant inclination their banner to difplay ; 
 To Burrow-Muir reforting, their right for fupporting, 
 And there rendevouzing, encamped did lay. 
 
 But another bad omen, that vengeance was coming, 
 At midnight, in Edinburgh, a voice loud did cry, 
 As heraulds, in their flation, with loud proclamation, 
 Did name all our barons in England to die. 
 
 Thefe words the demon fpoke,at the throne of Plotcock, 
 It charged their appearing, appointing the day. 
 The provoft,in its hearing, the fummons greatly fearing, 
 Appeal'd to his Maker, the fame did deny. 
 
 At this was many griev'd, as many disbeliev'd ; 
 But forward they marched to the defliny : 
 From thence to the border they march'd in good order; 
 The Merfe men and Forreft they join'd the array. 
 
 England's invafion, it was their perfuafion, 
 To make reflitution for their cruelty.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 47 
 
 But O fatal Flodoun ! there came the wo down ; 
 And our royal nation was brought to decay. 
 
 After fpoiling and burning, many hameward returning, 
 With our king ftill the nobles and vaffals abide. 
 To S u R R Y'S proud vaunting he anfwers but daunting; 
 The king would await him whatever betide. 
 
 The Englifh advanced to where they were flanced ; 
 Half-intrenched by nature, the field it fo lay ; 
 To fight the Englifh fearing, and fham'd their retiring : 
 But alas ! unperceived was their fubtilty. 
 
 Our highland battalion, fo forward and valiant, 
 They broke from their ranks, and they rufh'd on to flay : 
 With hacking and flaming, and broad fwords a-dafhing, 
 Thro' the front of the Englifh they cut a full way. 
 
 But alas to their ruin ! an ambufh purfuing, 
 They were furrounded with numbers too high : 
 The Merfe men and Forefl, they fuff'red the foreft 
 Upon the left wing was inclofed the fame way. 
 
 Our men into parties, the battle in three quarters, 
 Upon our main body the markfmen did play : 
 The fpearmen were furrounded, and all was confounded ; 
 The fatal devaftation of that woful day ! 
 
 Our nobles all enfnared, our king he was not fpared ; 
 For of that fate he fhared, and would not run away : 
 The whole were intercepted, that very few efcaped 
 The fatal conflagration of that woful day. 
 
 This fet the whole nation into grief and vexation : 
 The widows did weep, and the maidens did fay, 
 Why tarries my lover ? the battle's furely over ? 
 Is there none left to tell us the fates of the day ?
 
 48 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I've heard a lilting at our ewes milking, 
 Lafles a-lilting afore break of day : 
 But now there's a moaning on ilka green loaning, 
 Since our bra foreflers are a' wed away. 
 
 At boughts i' the morning nae blyth lads are fcorning 
 The lafles are lonely, dowie, and wae : 
 Nae damn, nae gabbin, but fighing and fabbing, 
 Ilk ane lifts her leglen, and hies her away. 
 
 At e'en in the glomin nae fwankeys are roaming, 
 Mang flacks wi' the laffes at bogle to play ; 
 But ilk ane fits dreary, lamenting her deary, 
 The flowers of the Forefl that are wed away. 
 
 In herd at the (hearing nae younkers are jeering : 
 The banfters are lyart, runkled, and gray. 
 At fairs nor at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching, 
 Since our braw Forrefters are a' wed away. 
 
 O dool for the order fent our lads to the border ! 
 The Englifh for anes by guile got the day : 
 The flowers of the forefl that ay fhone the foremoft, 
 The prime of our land lyes cauld in the clay. 
 
 We'll hear nae mair lilting at our ewes milking : 
 The women and bairns are dowie and wae, 
 Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning, 
 Since our bra forreflers are a' wed away. 
 
 I've feen the fmiling of fortune beguiling ; 
 I've felt all her favours, and found her decay. 
 Sweet is her bleffing and kind her carefling ; 
 But now it is fled, it is fled far away. 
 
 I've feen the forefl adorned the foremofl 
 
 With flowers of the fairefl both pleafant and gay :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 49 
 
 Sae bonny was their blooming, their fcent the air perfuming; 
 But now they are withered and all gone away. 
 
 I've feen the morning with gold the hills adorning, 
 And loud tempefts florming before mid-day : 
 I have feen Tweed's filverflreamsfhiningi' the funny beams, 
 Grow drumly and dark as it roll'd on the way. 
 
 O fickle fortune ! why this cruel fporting ? 
 
 Why this perplexing poor fons of a day ? 
 
 Thy frowns cannot fear me, nor fmiles cannot chear me 
 
 Since the flowers of the Forefl are a' wed away*. 
 
 The Battle of Reid-Squair -f*. 
 
 f\N July feventh, the futhe to fay, 
 
 At the Reid-Squair the tryft was fet. 
 Our wardens they affixt the day, 
 
 And as they promift, fae they met : 
 
 Allace ! that day I'll neir forzet, 
 Was fure fae feir'd, and then fae fain, 
 
 They cam thair juftice for to get, 
 Will nevir grein to cum again. 
 
 * This verfion is made up from various copies of this old ballad 
 collated, and is of very unequal merit. The ftanzas from the 1 7th 
 to the 22d inclufive compofe a dirge of the mod beautiful and 
 pathetic fimplicity. The circumftances are happily chofen and 
 combined, and the language, to thofe who underftand it, is fo 
 pidlurefquely expreffive, that while we read the words, we feel the 
 fcene penciled on our imagination. And it is impoffible to perufe 
 it without feeling a high degree of that pleafmg fombre tendernefs 
 which it is the object of this fort of poetry to produce. 
 
 t Fought on July 7, 1576. 
 
 VOL. I. (4) E
 
 50 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 CARMICHAEL was our warden then, 
 
 He caufit the countrey to convene, 
 And the laird WATT, that worthy man, 
 
 Brocht in his fumame well be fene : 
 
 The ARMSTRANGS that ay haif bene 
 A hardy houfe, but not a hail ; 
 
 The ELLIOTS honours to mentain, 
 Brought in the laif of LIDDISDALE. 
 
 Then T w i D A i L came to with fpeid, 
 
 The Scheriff brocht the DOUGLAS doun, 
 With CRANSTANE, GLADSTANE, gude at neid, 
 
 Baith Rewls-water and Hawick Town. 
 
 BEANGEDDERT bauldly maid him boun, 
 With all the TRUMBLES flrang and flout ; 
 
 The RUTHIRFUIRDS, with grit renoun, 
 Convoyit the town of Jedbruch out. 
 
 With other Clanns I can nocht tell, 
 
 Because our wairning was nocht wyde, 
 Be this our folk hes tane the fell, 
 
 And plantit pallions thair to byde : 
 
 We lukit down the uther fyde, 
 And faw cum briefling owr the brae, 
 
 And Sir GEORGE FOSTER was their gyde, 
 With Fyftene hundrid men and mae. 
 
 It greivt him fair that day I trow, 
 
 With Sir JOHN HINROME of Schipfydehoufe, 
 Becaufe we were not men enow, 
 
 He counted us not worth a foufe ; 
 
 Sir GEORGE was gentil, meik and doufe, 
 But he was hail and het as fyre : 
 
 But zit for all his cracking croufe 
 He rewd the raid of the Reid Squyre.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 51 
 
 To deil with proud men is but pain, 
 
 For ether ze maun ficht or flie, 
 Or els nae anfwer mack again, 
 
 But play the beift, and let him be. 
 
 It was nae wondir tho he was hie, 
 Had TYNDALL, REDSDAILE at his hand, 
 
 With CUGKSDAILE,GLADSDAILEOnthe lie, 
 
 Auld HEBSRIME and NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 Zit was our meiting meik enough, 
 
 Begun with mirrinefs and mows, 
 And at the brae abune the heugh 
 
 The clerk fat doun to call the rows, 
 
 And fum for ky and mm for ewis, 
 Callit inofDANDRiE HOB and JOCK, 
 
 I faw cum merching owre the knows, 
 Fyve hundred FENNICKS in a flock. 
 
 With jack and fpeir, and bowis all bent, 
 
 And warlike weaponis at their will ; 
 Howbeit they wer not weil content, 
 
 Zit be me trouth we feird nae ill : 
 
 Sum zeid to drink, and fum flude ftill, 
 And fum to cards and dyce them fped, 
 
 Quhyle on ane Farftein they fyld a bill, 
 And he was fugitive that fled. 
 
 CARMICHAEL bad them fpeik out plainly, 
 
 And cloke nae caufe for ill nor gude, 
 The uther anfwering him full vainly, 
 
 Begouth to reckon kin and blude, 
 
 He raife and rax'd him quhair he flude, 
 And bade him match him with his marrows ; 
 
 Then T Y N D A L hard thefe refeuns rude, 
 And they lute aff a flight of arrows. 
 E 2
 
 52 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Then was ther nocht but bow and fpeir, 
 
 And ilka man pullit out a brand, 
 A SCHAFTAN and a F E N N I c K their, 
 
 Gude SYMINGTON was flain frae hand. 
 
 The Scotismen cryd on uther to fland, 
 Frae tyme they faw JOHN ROBSON flain : 
 
 Quhat fuld they cry ! The Kings command 
 Culd caufe nae cowards turn again. 
 
 Up raife the laird to red the cumber, 
 
 Quhilk wald not be for all his boifl, 
 Quhat fuld we do with fie a number, 
 
 Fyve thoufand men into an hoiil? 
 
 Then HENRIE PURDIE proud hes coft, 
 And verie narrowlie had mifchiefd him, 
 
 And ther we had our W A R D E N loft, 
 Wart not the grit G o D he relievd him. 
 
 Ane uther throw the breiks him bair, 
 
 Quhyle flatlines to the ground he fell : 
 Then thocht I, we had loft him thair, 
 
 Into my heart it ftruck a knell ; 
 
 Zit up he raife, the truth to tell, 
 And laid about him dunts full dour, 
 
 His horfemen they faucht flout and fnell, 
 And ftude about him in the flour. 
 
 Then raifd the flogan with an fchout, 
 
 Fy, TVNDALL to it, JEDBRUGH heir : 
 
 I trow he was not half fae flout, 
 But anes his ftomak was a fteir, 
 With gun and genzie, bow and fpeir, 
 
 He micht fe mony a crakit crown, 
 But up amang the merchant geir, 
 
 They buffie were as we wer doun.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 53 
 
 The fwallow-tails frae teckles flew, 
 
 Fyve hundred flam into the flicht, 
 But we had peflellets anew, 
 
 And fchot amang them as we micht. 
 
 With help of GOD the game gade richt, 
 Frae tyme the foremoft of them fell ; 
 
 Hynd owre the know, without gude-nicht, 
 They ran with mony a fchout and zell. 
 
 And after they had turnd again, 
 
 Zit T Y N D A L L men they turnd again, 
 And had not bene the merchant packs, 
 
 There had been mae of Scotland (lain : 
 
 But J E s u gif the folk was fain 
 To put the buffing on thair theis, 
 
 And sae they fled with all thair main, 
 Doun owre the brae lyke clogged beis. 
 
 Sir FRANCIS RUSSEL tane was thair, 
 
 And hurt, as we heir men reherfe ; 
 Proud WALLINGTOUN was wouded fair, 
 
 Albeit he was a Fennick ferfs, 
 
 But gif ze wald a fouldier ferche 
 Amang them all was tane that night, 
 
 Was nane fae wordie of our verfe 
 As COLINGWOOD that courteous knight. 
 
 Zung HENRY fkapit hame, is hurt, 
 
 A fouldier fchot him with a bow, 
 Scotland has caufe to make great fturt, 
 
 For laiming of the Laird of Mow. 
 
 The Laird WATT did weil indeid, 
 His friends ilude ftoutly by himfell, 
 
 With little GLADSTANE, gude in neid, 
 For G R E T E i N kend not gude be ill.
 
 54 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 The S C H E R i F F wantit not gude-will, 
 
 Howbeit he might not ficht fae fafl : 
 BENJEADERT, HUNDLIE and HUNTHILL, 
 
 Three, on they laid weil at the lafl, 
 
 Except the horfemen of the gaird ; 
 If I could put men to avail, 
 
 Nane floutlier ftude out for their laird, 
 Nor did the lads of LIDDISDALE. 
 
 But little harnefs had we thair, 
 
 But auld B A D R u L E had on a jack, 
 And did richt weil, I zou declair, 
 
 With all the T R u M B u L L s at his back. 
 
 Gude EDERSTANE was not to lack, 
 With KIRKTOUN, NEWTOUN, nobill-men. 
 
 Thir is all the fpecials I haif fpack, 
 Forby them that I could nocht ken. 
 
 Quha did invent that day of play, 
 
 We neid nocht feir to find him fune, 
 For Sir JOHN FOSTER, I dare weil fay, 
 
 Maid us that noyfome afternune : 
 
 Not that I fpeik precifely out, 
 That he fuppofd it wald be perill, 
 
 But pryde and breaking out, but dout, 
 Gart T Y N D A L L lads begin the quarrell. 
 
 Chcvy-Chace. 
 
 O D profper long our noble king, 
 
 Our lives and fafetyes all ; 
 A woful hunting once there did 
 In Chevy-chace befall ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 55 
 
 To drive the deere with hound and home, 
 
 Earl PERCY took his way ; 
 The child may rue that is unborne, 
 
 The hunting of that day. 
 
 The flout Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND 
 
 A vow to God did make, 
 His pleafure in the Scottifh woods 
 
 Three fummer days to take ; 
 
 The cheefefl harts in Chevy-Chace 
 
 To kill and beare away. 
 Thefe tyding to Earl DOUGLAS came, 
 
 In Scotland where he lay : 
 
 Who fent Earl PERCY prefent word. 
 
 He wold prevent his fport. 
 The Englifh earl not fearing this, 
 
 Did to the woods refort ; 
 
 With fifteen hundred bow-men bold, 
 
 All chofen men of might, 
 Who knew full well in time of neede, 
 
 To aime their fhafts aright. 
 
 The gallant greyhounds quickly ran, 
 
 To chafe the fallow-deere : 
 On Monday they began to hunt, 
 
 Ere day-light did appear ; 
 
 And long before high noone they had 
 
 An hundred fat buckes flaine ; 
 Then having din'd, the drovers wont 
 
 To rouze them up againe. 
 
 The bow-men muftered on the hills, 
 Well able to endure :
 
 56 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Their backfides all, with fpecial care, 
 That day were guarded fure. 
 
 The hounds ran fwiftly thro' the woods, 
 
 The nimble deere to take, 
 And with their cryes the hiles and dales 
 
 An eccho (hrill did make. 
 
 Lord PERCY to the quarry went, 
 
 To view the tender deere; 
 Quoth he, Earl DOUGLAS promifed 
 
 This day to meet me heere : 
 
 But if I thought he would not come, 
 
 No longer would I flay. 
 With that, a brave younge gentleman 
 
 Thus to the earl did fay. 
 
 Loe yonder doth Earl DOUGLAS come, 
 
 His men in armour bright; 
 Full twenty hundred Scottifh fpeares 
 
 All marching in our fight; 
 
 All men of pleafant Tivydale, 
 
 Faft by the river Tweede : 
 Then ceafe your fport, Earl PERCY faid, 
 
 And take your bowes with fpeede : 
 
 And now with me, my countrymen, 
 
 Your courage forth advance; 
 For never was there champion yet 
 
 In Scotland or in France, 
 
 That ever did on horfebacke come, 
 
 But if my hap it were, 
 I durft encounter man for man, 
 
 With him to break a fpeare.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 57 
 
 Earl DOUGLAS on a milk-white fleede 
 
 Moft like a baron bold, 
 Rode foremoft of his company, 
 
 Whofe armour fhone like gold : 
 
 Show me, fayd he, whofe men ye bee, 
 
 That hunt fae boldly heere, 
 That, without my confent, do chafe 
 
 And kill my fallow-deere? 
 
 The man that firfl did anfwer make 
 
 Was noble PERCY hee ; 
 Who fayd, We lift not to declare, 
 
 Nor fhevv whofe men we bee : 
 
 Yet will we fpend our deerefl blood, 
 
 Thy chiefefl harts to flay. 
 Then DOUGLAS fwore a folemne oathe, 
 
 And thus in rage did fay, 
 
 Ere thus I will out-braved bee, 
 
 One of us two fhall dye : 
 I know thee well, an earl thou art; 
 
 Lord PERCY fo am I. 
 
 But truft me, PERCY, pittye it were, 
 
 And great offence to kill 
 Any of thefe our harmleffe men, 
 
 For they have done no ill. 
 
 Let thou and I the battel trye, 
 
 And fet our men afide. 
 Accurs'd bee hee, Lord PERCY fayd, 
 
 By whom this is denyed. 
 
 Then ftept a gallant fquire forth, 
 WITHERINGTON was his name,
 
 58 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Who faid, I wold not have it told 
 To HENRY our king for fhame, 
 
 That e'er my captaine fought on foote, 
 
 And I flood looking on. 
 You bee two earls, fayd WITHERINGTON, 
 
 And I a fquire alone : 
 
 He doe the befl that doe I may, 
 
 While I have power to fland : 
 While I have power to weeld my fword, 
 
 He fight with heart and hand. 
 
 Our Englifh archers bent their bowes, 
 Their hearts were good and trew; 
 
 At the firft flight of arrowes fent, 
 Full threefcore Scots they flew. 
 
 To drive the deere with hound and home, 
 
 Earl DOUGLAS had the bent; 
 Two captaines mov'd with mickle pride, 
 
 Their fpeares to fhivers went. 
 
 They clos'd full faft on everye fide, 
 
 No flacknefs there was found ; 
 And many a gallant gentleman 
 
 Lay gafping on the ground. 
 
 O CHRIST! it was a griefe to fee, 
 
 And likewife for to heare, 
 The cries of men lying in their gore, 
 
 And fcatter'd here and there. 
 
 At lafl thefe two flout carles did meet, 
 
 Like captaines of great might; 
 Like lyons wood, they layd on load, 
 
 And made a cruel fight :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 59 
 
 They fought untill they both did fweat, 
 
 With fwords of temper'd fteele ; 
 Untill the blood, like drops of rain, 
 
 They trickling downe did feele. 
 
 Yeeld thee, Lord PERCY, DOUGLAS fayd ; 
 
 In faith I will thee bring, 
 Where thou fhalt high advanced bee 
 
 By JAMES our Scottifh king. 
 
 Thy ranfom I will freely give, 
 
 And thus report of thee, 
 Thou art the moft couragious knight, 
 
 That ever I did fee. 
 
 No, DOUGLAS, quoth Earl PERCY then, 
 
 Thy proffer I doe fcorne; 
 I will not yeelde to any Scott, 
 
 That ever yet was borne. 
 
 With that, there came an arrow keene 
 
 Out of an Englifh bow, 
 Which ftrucke Earl DOUGLAS to the heart, 
 
 A deep and deadlye blow : 
 
 Who never fpoke more words than thefe, 
 
 Fight on, my merry men all; 
 For why, my life is at an end ; 
 
 Lord PERCY fees me fall. 
 
 Then leaving life, Earl PERCY tooke 
 
 The dead man by the hand ; 
 And faid, Earl DOUGLAS, for thy life 
 
 Would I had loft my land. 
 
 O CHRIST! my very heart doth bleed, 
 With forrow for thy fake ;
 
 6o SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 For fure, a more renowned knight 
 Mifchance did never take. 
 
 A knight amongft the Scotts there was, 
 Which faw Earl DOUGLAS dye, 
 
 Who flreight in wrath did vow revenge 
 Upon the Lord PERCY : 
 
 Sir HUGH MOUNTGOMERY was he call'd, 
 
 Who, with a fpeare moft bright, 
 Well-mounted on a gallant deed, 
 
 Ran fiercely thro' the fight ; 
 
 And pail the Englifh archers all, 
 
 Without all dread or feare ; 
 And thro' Earl PERCY'S body then 
 
 He thruft his hatefull fpeare ; 
 
 With fuch a vehement force and might 
 
 He did his body gore, 
 The fpeare went thro' the other fide 
 
 A large cloth-yard and more. 
 
 So thus did both thefe nobles dye, 
 Whofe courage none could flaine : 
 
 An Englifh archer then perceiv'd 
 The noble earl was flain : 
 
 He had a bow bent in his hand, 
 
 Made of a trufty tree ; 
 An arrow of a cloth-yard long 
 
 Up to the head drew hee : 
 
 Againft Sir HUGH MOUNTGOMERY, 
 
 So right the fhaft he fctt, 
 The grey goofe-wing that was thereon, 
 
 In his heart's blood was wett.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 61 
 
 This fight did lafl from breake of day, 
 
 Till fettingof the fun; 
 For when they rung the evening-bell, 
 
 The battel fcarce was done. 
 
 With brave Earl PERCY, there was flam 
 
 Sir JOHN of OGERTON*, 
 Sir ROBERT RATCLIFF, and Sir JOHN, 
 
 Sir JAMES that bold baron : 
 
 And with Sir GEORGE and flout Sir JAMES, 
 
 Both knights of good account, 
 Good Sir RALPH RABBY there was flaine, 
 
 Whofe proweffe did furmount. 
 
 For Wi THERINGTON needs muft I wayle, 
 
 As one in doleful dumpesf; 
 For when his leggs were fmitten off, 
 
 He fought upon his ftumpes. 
 
 And with Earl DOUGLAS, there was flain 
 
 Sir HUGH MOUNTGOMERY; 
 Sir CHARLES MURRAY, that from the feeld 
 
 One foote would never flee. 
 
 Sir CHARLES MURRAY, of Ratcliff, too, 
 
 His fifters fonne was hee; 
 Sir DAVID LAMB, fo well efteem'd, 
 
 Yet faved could not be. 
 
 And the Lord MAXWELL in like cafe 
 Did with Earl DOUGLAS dye : 
 
 * The names here feem to be corrupted from the old Copy. 
 
 t i. e. "I, as one in deep concerne, mufl lament." The con- 
 ftruction here has generally been mifunderfloocl. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 62 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Of twenty hundred Scottifh fpeeres, 
 Scarce twenty-five did flye. 
 
 Of fifteen hundred Englifh men, 
 
 Went home but fifty-three; 
 The reft were flain in Chevy-chafe : 
 
 Under the green-woode tree. 
 
 Next day did many widowes come, 
 
 Their husbands to bewayle; 
 They wafht their wounds in brinifh teares, 
 
 But all wold not prevayle. 
 
 Their bodyes, bath'd in purple gore, 
 
 They bare with them away; 
 They kifl them dead a thoufand times, 
 
 When they were cladd in clay. 
 
 This newes was brought to Edenborrow, 
 Where Scotlands king did rayne, 
 
 That brave Earl DOUGLAS fuddenlye 
 Was with an arrow flaine : 
 
 heavy newes ! King JAMES did fay, 
 Scotland can witneffe bee, 
 
 1 have not any captaine more 
 
 Of fuch account as hee. 
 
 Like tydings to King HENRY came, 
 
 Within as fhort a fpace, 
 That PERCY of NORTHUMBERLAN'D 
 
 Was flain in Chevy-chafe : 
 
 Now G o D be with him, faid our king, 
 
 Sith it will no better bee ; 
 I truft I have, within my realme, 
 
 Five hundred as good as hee :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 63 
 
 Yet mall not Scotts nor Scotland fay, 
 
 But I will vengeance take, 
 I'll be revenged on them all, 
 
 For brave Earl PERCY'S fake. 
 
 This vow full well the king perform'd 
 
 After, on Humbledowne ; 
 In one day, fifty knights were flayne, 
 
 With lords of great renowne : 
 
 And of the reft, of fmall account, 
 
 Did many thoufands dye : 
 Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chafe, 
 
 Made by the Earl PERCY. 
 
 GOD fave the king, and blefs this land 
 
 In plenty e, joy, and peace; 
 And grant henceforth, that foule debate 
 
 'Twixt noblemen may ceafe. 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD. 
 
 dois zour brand fae drap wi' bluid, 
 EDWARD, EDWARD? 
 Quhy dois zour brand fae drap wi' bluid? 
 And quhy fae fad gang zee, O? 
 O, I hae killed my hauke fae guid, 
 Mither, mither: 
 O, I hae killed my hauke fae guid ; 
 
 And I had nae mair bot hee, O. 
 
 Your haukis bluid was nevir fae reid ; 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD. 
 F 2
 
 64 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Zour haukis bluid was nevir fae reid ; 
 
 My deir fon I tell thee, O. 
 O, I hae killed my reid-roan fleid, 
 
 Mither, mither: 
 O, I hae killed my reid-roan fleid, 
 
 That erfl was fair and frie, O. 
 
 Zour fleid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD: 
 Zour fleid was auld, and ze hae gat mair, 
 
 Sum other dule ze drie, O. 
 O, I hae killed my fadir deir, 
 
 Mither, mither: 
 O, I hae killed my fadir deir, 
 
 Alas ! and wae is mee, O ! 
 
 And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that? 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD. 
 And quhatten penance wul ze drie for that? 
 
 My deir fon, now tell me, O. 
 lie fet my feit in zonder boat, 
 
 Mither, mither: 
 lie fet my feit in zonder boat, 
 
 And He fare over the fea, O. 
 
 And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour touirs and zour ha', 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD? 
 And quhat wul ze doe wi' zour towirs and zour ha', 
 
 That were fae fair to fee, O ? 
 He let thame ftand tull they doun fa', 
 Mither, mither: 
 He let thame ftand till they doun fa', 
 
 For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 65 
 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD? 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour bairns and zour wife, 
 
 Quhan ze gang ovir the fea, O? 
 The warldis room, late thame beg thrae life, 
 
 Mither, mither: 
 
 The warldis room, let thame beg thrae life, 
 For thame nevir mair wul I fee, O. 
 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir, 
 
 EDWARD, EDWARD? 
 
 And quhat wul ze leive to zour ain mither deir, 
 
 My deir fon, now tell mee, O? 
 The curfe of hell frae me fall ze beir, 
 Mither, mither: 
 The curfe of hell frae me fall ze beir, 
 
 Sic counfeils ze gave to me, O. 
 
 Lady BOTHWELL'S Lament. 
 
 "D ALOW, my boy, ly ftill and fleep, 
 It grieves me fair to hear thee weep : 
 
 If thoul't be filent, I'll be glad, 
 
 Thy mourning makes my heart full fad. 
 
 Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, 
 
 Thy father bred me great annoy. 
 
 Balow, my dear, lie ftill and fleep, 
 It grieves me fair to hear thee weep. 
 
 Balow, my darling, fleep a while, 
 And when thou wak'ft then fweetly fmile ; 
 (5) F 3
 
 66 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 But fmile not as thy father did, 
 To cozen maids, nay GOD forbid ; 
 For in thine eye his look I fee, 
 The tempting look that ruin'd me. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 When he began to court my love, 
 And with his fugar'd words to move, 
 His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear, 
 In time to me did not appear; 
 But now I fee that cruel he, 
 Cares neither for his babe nor me. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 Fareweel, fareweel, thou falfeft youth 
 That ever kifs'd a woman's mouth ; 
 Let never any after me 
 Submit unto thy courtefy : 
 For, if they do, O ! cruel thou 
 Wilt her abufe, and care not how. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 I was too cred'lous at the firfl, 
 To yield thee all a maiden durfl; 
 Thou fwore for ever true to prove, 
 Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love ; 
 But quick as thought the change is wrought, 
 Thy love nae mair, thy promife nought. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 O gin I were a maid again, 
 From young mens flatt'ry I'd refrain, 
 For now unto my grief I find 
 They all are perjur'd and unkind :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 67 
 
 Bewitching charms bred all my harms, 
 Witnefs my babe lyes in my arms. 
 Bcilow, my boy, etc. 
 
 I tak my fate from bad to worfe, 
 That I muft needs be now a nurfe, 
 And lull my young fon on my lap : 
 From me, fweet orphan, tak the pap : 
 Balow, my child, thy mother mild 
 Shall wail as from all blifs exil'd. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 Balow, my boy, weep not for me, 
 Whofe greatefl griefs for wranging thee, 
 Nor pity her deferved fmart, 
 Who can blame none but her fond heart; 
 For, too foon trufting lateft finds, 
 With faireft tongues are falfeft minds. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, 
 When he the thriftlefs fon hath play'd ; 
 Of vows and oaths forgetful, he 
 Preferr'd the wars to thee and me. 
 But now, perhaps, thy curfe and mine 
 Make him eat acorns with the fwine. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 But curfe not him ; perhaps now he, 
 Stung with remorfe, is bleffmg thee : 
 Perhaps at death ; for who can tell, 
 Whether the Judge of heaven or hell, 
 By fome proud foe has {truck the blow, 
 And laid the dear deceiver low? 
 Balow, my boy, etc.
 
 68 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I wifti I were into the bounds, 
 Where he lyes fmother'd in his wounds, 
 Repeating, as he pants for air, 
 My name, whom once he call'd his fair, 
 No woman's yet fo fiercely fet, 
 But fhe'll forgive, though not forget. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 If linen lacks, for my love's fake, 
 Then quickly to him would I make 
 My fmock once for his body meet, 
 And wrap him in that winding-meet. 
 Ah me ! how happy had I been, 
 If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. 
 Balow, my boy, etc. 
 
 Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee : 
 
 Too foon, alake, thou'lt weep for me : 
 
 Thy griefs are growing to a fum, 
 
 GOD grant thee' patience when they come ; 
 
 Born to fuftain thy mother's fhame, 
 
 A haplefs fate, a baftard's name. 
 
 Balow, my boy, ly Jlill andfleep, 
 It grieves me fair to hear thee weep. 
 
 The Braes of Yarrow. 
 
 A. T> U S K ye, bufk ye, my bonny bonny bride, 
 
 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my winfome marrow; 
 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my bonny bony bride, 
 And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 69 
 
 B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? 
 Where gat ye that winfome marrow? 
 
 A. I gat her where I dare nae well be feen, 
 Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, 
 Weep not, weep not, my winfome marrow ; 
 
 Nor let thy heart lament to lieve 
 
 Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 B. Why does me weep, thy bonny bonny bride? 
 Why does me weep thy winfome marrow? 
 
 And why dare ye nae mair weil be feen 
 Puing the birks on the braes of Yarrow? 
 
 A. Lang maun me weep, lang muan fhe, maun fhe weep, 
 Lang maun fhe weep with dule and forrow, 
 
 And lang maun I nae mair weil be feen 
 Puing the birk on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 For fhe has tint hir luver luver dear, 
 
 Her luver dear, the caufe of forrow, 
 And I hae flain the comelieft fwain 
 
 That e'er pu'd birk on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Why run thy ftreams, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? 
 
 Why on thy braes heard the voice of forrow? 
 And why yon melancholeous weeds 
 
 Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow? 
 
 What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flream? 
 
 What's yonder floats? O dule and forrow! 
 'Tis he the comely fwain I flew 
 
 Upon the doleful braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Warn, O warn his wounds, his wounds in tears, 
 His wounds in tears, with dule and forrow,
 
 70 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, 
 And lay him on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Then build, then build, ye fillers fillers fad, 
 
 Ye Sifters fad, his tomb with forrow, 
 And weep around in waeful wife, 
 
 His haplefs fate on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Curfe ye, curfe ye, his ufelefs ufelefs fhield, 
 My arm that wrought the deid of forrow, 
 
 The fatal fpeir that pierc'd his breafl, 
 
 His comely breafl on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Did I not warn thee not to lue, 
 
 And warn from fight; but to my forrow, 
 
 O'er rafhly bald a flronger arm 
 
 Thou met'fl, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Sweet fmells the birk, green grows, green grows the grafs, 
 
 Yallow on Yarrow's banks the gowan, 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, 
 
 Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 
 
 Flows Yarrow fweet? as fweet as fweet flows Tweed, 
 As green its grafs, its gowan as yellow, 
 
 As fweet fmells on its braes the birk, 
 The apple frae the rock as mellow. 
 
 Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve, 
 In flowry bands thou him did'fl fetter ; 
 
 Tho' he was fair and well beluv'd again, 
 Than me he never lued thee better. 
 
 Bufk ye, then bufk, my bonny bonny bride, 
 Bulk ye, bufk ye, my winfome marrow, 
 
 Bufk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed, 
 And think nae mair on the braes of Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 71 
 
 C. How can I bufk a bonny bonny bride? 
 
 How can I bulk a winfome marrow? 
 How lue him on the banks of Tweed, 
 
 That flew my luve on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 O Yarrow fields, let never never rain, 
 
 No dew thy tender bloffoms cover, 
 For there was bafely flain my luve, 
 
 My luve, as he had not been a lover. 
 
 The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, 
 
 His purple veft, 'twas my awn feuing ; 
 Ah ! wretched me ! I little little kend 
 
 He was in thefe to meet his ruin. 
 
 The boy took out his milk-white milk-white fleed, 
 
 Unheedful of my dule and sorrow ; 
 But e'er the toofal of the night 
 
 He lay a corps on the braes of Yarrow. 
 
 Much I rejoic'd that waeful waeful day; 
 
 I fang, my voice the words returning: 
 But lang e'er night the fpear was flown 
 
 That flew my luve, and left me mourning. 
 
 What can my barbarous barbarous father do, 
 
 But with his cruel rage purfue me? 
 My luver's blood is on thy fpear, 
 
 How can'ft thou, barbarous man, then woo me? 
 
 My happy fisters may be may be proud; 
 
 With cruel, and ungentle fcoffin, 
 May bid me feek on Yarrow braes 
 
 My luver nailed in his coffin. 
 
 My brother DOUGLAS may upbraid, 
 
 And ftrive with threatninsr words to move me :
 
 72 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 My luver's blood is on thy fpear, 
 
 How can'fl thou ever bid me luve thee? 
 
 Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, 
 With bridal flieets my body cover; 
 
 Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 
 Let in the expected husband lover. 
 
 But who the expected husband husband is? 
 
 His hands, methinks, are bath'd in flaughter; 
 Ah me ! what ghaflly fpeclre's yon, 
 
 Comes, in his pale (hroud, bleeding after? 
 
 Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down, 
 O lay his cold head on my pillow; 
 
 Tak aff tak aff thefe bridal weids, 
 
 And crown my careful head with willow. 
 
 Pale tho' thou art, yet beft yet beft beluv'd, 
 O could my wramth to life reftore thee ! 
 
 Yet lye all night between my briefts, 
 No youth lay ever there before thee. 
 
 Pale pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth, 
 Forgive, forgive fo foul a flaughter! 
 
 And lye all night between my briefts, 
 No youth mail evir lye there after. 
 
 A. Return, return, O mournful mournful bride, 
 Return, and dry thy ufelefs forrow, 
 
 Thy luver heeds nought of thy fighs, 
 He lyes a corps on the braes of Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 73 
 
 GlLDEROY. 
 
 ILDEROY was a bonny boy, 
 
 Had rofes tull his fhoone, 
 His {lockings were of filken foy, 
 
 Wi' garters hanging down ; 
 It was, I weene, a comlie fight, 
 
 To fee fae trim a boy; 
 He was my joy and heart's delight, 
 My handfome G i L D E R o Y. 
 
 Oh ! fick twa charming een he had, 
 
 A breath as fweet as rofe, 
 He never ware a Highland plaid, 
 
 But coftly filken clothes; 
 He gain'd the luve of ladies gay, 
 
 Nane eir tull him was coy; 
 Ah ! wae is mee ! I mourn the day, 
 
 For my dear G i L D E R o Y. 
 
 My GILDEROY and I were born, 
 
 Baith in one toun together, 
 We fcant were feven years beforn 
 
 We gan to luve each other; 
 Our dadies and our mammies thay 
 
 Were fill'd wi' mickle joy, 
 To think upon the bridal day 
 
 'Twixt me and GILDEROY. 
 
 For GILDEROY that luve of mine, 
 
 Gude faith, I freely bought 
 A wedding fark of holland fine, 
 
 Wi' filken flowers wrought: 
 And he gied me a wadding ring, 
 
 Which I receiv'd wi' joy, 
 VOL. I. G
 
 74 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Nae lad nor laffie eir could fmg, 
 Like my love G I L D E R o Y. 
 
 Wi' mickle joy we fpent our prime, 
 
 Till we were baith fixteen, 
 And aft we pad the langfome time, 
 
 Amang the leaves fae green; 
 Aft on the banks we'd fit us thair, 
 
 And fweetly kifs and toy, 
 Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair, 
 
 My hanclfome G i L D E R o Y . 
 
 Oh ! that he ftill had been content 
 
 Wi' me to lead his life; 
 But, ah ! his manfu' heart was bent 
 
 To ftir in feates of ftrife : 
 And he in many a venturous deed, 
 
 His courage bauld wad try, 
 And now this gars mine heart to bleed 
 
 For my dear G i L D E R o Y . 
 
 And whan of me his leave he tuik, 
 
 The tears they wat mine ee; 
 I gave tull him a parting luik, 
 
 " My benifon gang wi' thee ! 
 God fpeid thee weil, mine ain dear heart, 
 
 For gane is all my joy; 
 My heart is rent fith we maun part, 
 
 My handfome G i L D E R o Y." 
 
 My G i L D E R o Y baith far and near, 
 
 Was fear'd in evry town, 
 And bauldly bare away the gear 
 
 Of many a lawland lown; 
 Nane eir durft meit him man to man, 
 
 He was fae brave a boy,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 75 
 
 At length wi' numbers he was tane, 
 My winfome G i L D E R o Y. 
 
 The Queen of Scots poffeffed nought 
 
 That my love let me want : 
 For cow and ew he brought to me, 
 
 And e'en when they were fkant. 
 All thefe did honeflly poffefs, 
 
 He never did annoy, 
 Who never fail'd to pay their cefs * 
 
 To my love G i L D E R o Y. 
 
 Wae worth the loun that made the laws 
 
 To hang a man for gear, 
 To 'reave of life for ox or afs, 
 
 For fheep, or horfe, or mare ; 
 Had not their laws been made fae ftrict 
 
 I neir had loft my joy, 
 Wi' forrow neir had wat my cheek 
 
 For my dear GILDEROY. 
 
 Giff GILDEROY had done amiffe 
 
 He mought hae banifht been, 
 Ah ! what fair cruelty is this 
 
 To hang fik handfome men ; 
 To hang the flower o' Scottifh land, 
 
 Sae fweet and fair a boy ; 
 Nae lady had fae white a hand 
 
 As thee, my GILDEROY. 
 
 Of GILDEROY fae 'fraid they were, 
 They bound him mickle ftrong, 
 
 * This cefs which was paid by the inhabitants of the High- 
 lands of Scotland to the robbers of that country, was a com- 
 pofition for fparing their cattle and effects, and is well known 
 by the Name of the BLACK MAIL. 
 
 G 2
 
 76 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Tull Edenburrow they led him thair, 
 
 And on a gallows hung : 
 They hung him high aboon the reft, 
 
 He was fae trim a boy, 
 Thair dyed the youth whom I lued befl, 
 
 My handfome G i L D E R o Y. 
 
 Thus having yielded up his breath, 
 
 I bare his corpfe away, 
 Wi' tears that trickled for his death, 
 
 I wafht his comely clay ; 
 And ficker in a grave fae deep 
 
 I laid the dear-lued boy, 
 And now for evir maun I weep 
 
 My winfome GILDEROY. 
 
 WILLIAM'S Ghoft. 
 
 HERE came a ghoft to M A R G'R E x' s door, 
 
 With many a grievous groan, 
 And ay he tirled at the pin, 
 
 But anfwer made me none. 
 
 
 Is that my father PHILIP? 
 
 Or is't my brother JOHN? 
 Or is't my true love WILLIE 
 From Scotland new come home ? 
 
 'Tis not thy father PHILIP, 
 
 Nor yet thy brother JOHN; 
 But 'tis thy true love WILLIE, 
 
 From Scotland new come home. 
 
 O fweet M ARG'RET ! O dear M ARG'R ET ! 
 I pray thee fpeak to me,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 77 
 
 Give me my faith and troth, M A R G'R E T ! 
 As I gave it to thee. 
 
 Thy faith and troth thou's never get, 
 
 Nor yet will I thee lend, 
 Till that thou come within my bower, 
 
 And kifs my cheek and chin. 
 
 If I mould come within thy bower, 
 
 I am no earthly man; 
 And fhould I kifs thy rofy lips, 
 
 Thy days would not be lang. 
 
 O fweet MAR G'R ET! O dear MARG'RET! 
 
 I pray thee fpeak to me; 
 Give me my faith and troth, MARG'RET! 
 
 As I gave it to thee. 
 
 Thy faith and troth thou's never get, 
 
 Nor yet will I thee lend, 
 Till you take me to yon kirk-yard, 
 
 And wed me with a ring. 
 
 My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard, 
 
 Afar beyond the fea; 
 And it is but my fp'rit, M A R G'R E T, 
 
 That's now fpeaking to thee. 
 
 She ftretched out her lily-white hand, 
 
 And for to do her beft; 
 Hae, there's your faith and troth, WILLIE; 
 
 God fend your faul good reft! 
 
 Now me has kilted her robes of green 
 
 A piece below her knee, 
 And a' the live-lang winter-night 
 
 The dead corpfe follow'd (he. 
 G 3
 
 78 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Is there any room at your head, WILLIE, 
 
 Or any room at your feet, 
 Or any room at your fide, WILLIE, 
 
 Wherein that I may creep? 
 
 There's no room at my head, M A R G'R E T, 
 
 There's no room at my feet, 
 There's no room at my fide, M A R G'R E T, 
 
 My coffin's made fo meet. 
 
 Then up and crew the red cock, 
 
 And up then crew the gray, 
 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear M A R G' R E T, 
 
 That you were going away. 
 
 No more the ghoft to M A R G'R E T faid, 
 
 But, with a grievous groan, 
 Evanifhed in a cloud of mift, 
 
 And left her all alone. 
 
 O flay, my only true love, flay, 
 The conflant MARG'RET cry'd; 
 
 Wan grew her cheeks, fhe clos'd her een, 
 Stretch'd her foft limbs, and dy'd. 
 
 WILLIAM and MARGARET 
 
 WAS at the fearful midnight hour, 
 
 When all were faft afleep, 
 In glided MARG'RET'S grimly ghofl, 
 And flood at WILLIAM'S feet. 
 
 Her face was pale like April morn, 
 
 Clad in a wintery cloud ; 
 And clay-cold was her lily-hand 
 
 That held her fable fhroud.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 79 
 
 So shall the faired face appear, 
 
 When youth and years are flown : 
 Such is the robe that kings muft wear, 
 
 When death has reft their crown. 
 
 Her bloom was like the fpringing flower, 
 
 That fips the filver dew ; 
 The rofe was budded in her cheek, 
 
 Juft op'ning to the view : 
 
 But love had, like the canker-worm, 
 
 Confum'd her early prime : 
 The rofe grew pale, and left her cheek ; 
 
 She dy'd before her time. 
 
 Awake ! fhe cr/d, thy true love calls, 
 
 Come from her midnight grave ; 
 Now let thy pity hear the maid, 
 
 Thy love refus'd to save. 
 
 This is the dumb and dreary hour, 
 
 When injur'd ghofts complain, 
 And aid the fecret fears of night, 
 
 To fright the faithlefs man. 
 
 Bethink thee, WILLIAM, of thy fault, 
 
 Thy pledg'd and broken oath, 
 And give me back my maiden-vow, 
 
 And give me back my troth. 
 
 How could you fay my face was fair, 
 
 And yet that face forfake? 
 How could you win my virgin-heart, 
 
 Yet leave that heart to break? 
 
 Why did you promife love to me, 
 And not that promife keep?
 
 8o SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Why faid you that my eyes were bright, 
 Yet left thefe eyes to weep? 
 
 How could you fwear my lip was fweet, 
 
 And made the fcarlet pale? 
 And why did I, young witlefs maid, 
 
 Believe the flatt'ring tale? 
 
 That face, alas! no more is fair; 
 
 Thefe lips no longer red ; 
 Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death, 
 
 And every charm is fled. 
 
 The hungry worm my fifter is ; 
 
 This winding-meet I wear : 
 And cold and weary lafts our night, 
 
 Till that laft morn appear. 
 
 But hark Ithe cock has warn'd me hence 
 
 A long and late adieu ! 
 Come fee, falfe man ! how low fhe lyes, 
 
 That dy'd for love of you. 
 
 The lark fung out, the morning fmil'd, 
 
 And rais'd her glift'ning head : 
 Pale WILLIAM quak'd in every limb, 
 
 Then, raving, left his bed. 
 
 He hy'd him to the fatal place 
 
 Where MARG'RET'S body lay, 
 And flretch'd him o'er the green grafs-turf 
 
 That wrapp'd her breathlefs clay. 
 
 And thrice he call'd on MARGARET'S name, 
 
 And thrice he wept full fore; 
 Then laid his cheek on her cold grave, 
 
 And word fpoke never more.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 81 
 
 Waly, waly. 
 
 /~\ WALY waly up the bank, 
 
 And waly waly down the brae, 
 And waly waly by yon burn-fide, 
 
 Where I and my love were wont to gae. 
 I leant my back unto an aik, 
 
 I thought it was a truftie trie ; 
 But first it bow'd, and fyne it brake, 
 
 And fae my true love did lyghtlie me. 
 
 O waly waly gin love be bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when its auld it waxeth cauld, 
 
 And fades awa' like morning-dew. 
 O wherfore fhu'd I bufk my head ? 
 
 O wherfore mu'd I kame my hair ? 
 For my true love has me forfook, 
 
 And fays he'll never loe me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur-feat fall be my bed, 
 
 The fheits fall neir be fyl'd by me : 
 Saint Anton's wall fall be my drink, 
 
 Since my true love has forfaken me. 
 Marti'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, 
 
 And fhake the green leaves aff the trie ? 
 O gentle death, whan wilt thou cum ? 
 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 Tis not the frofl that freezes fell, 
 
 Nor blawing fnaw's inclemencie ; 
 'Tis not fick cauld that makes me cry, 
 
 But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 
 Whan we came in by Glafgowe town, 
 
 We were a comely fight to fee ; 
 (6)
 
 82 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 My love was cled i' th' black velvet, 
 And I myfell in cramafie. 
 
 But had I wift before I kifst, 
 
 That love had been fae ill to win, 
 I had lockt my heart in a cafe of gowd, 
 
 And pinn'd it wi' a filler pin. 
 Oh, oh ! if my young babe were borne, 
 
 And fet upon the nurfe's knee, 
 And I myfell were dead and gone, 
 
 For a maid again lie never be ! 
 
 WILLIE'S drown'd in Yarrow. 
 
 "\T7 I L L I E's rare, and WILLIE'S fair, 
 
 and WILLIE'S wondrous bonny, 
 And WILLIE hecht to marry me, 
 Gin e'er he married ony. 
 
 Yeftreen I made my bed fu' braid, 
 
 This night I'll make it narrow ; 
 For a' the live-lang winter-night 
 
 I'll ly twin'd of my marrow. 
 
 O came you by yon water-fide ? 
 
 Pu'd you the rofe or lilly ? 
 Or came you by yon meadow-green ? 
 
 Or faw ye my fweet WILLIE? 
 
 She fought him eaft, me fought him weft, 
 She fought him braid and narrow ; 
 
 Syne in the cleaving of a craig 
 
 She found him drown'd in Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 83 
 
 BOTHWELL. 
 
 AS BOTHWELL was walking in the lowlands alane, 
 
 Hey down, and a down, 
 He met fix ladies fae gallant and fine, 
 
 Hey down, and a down *. 
 He cafl his lot amang them a', 
 And on the youngeft his lot did fa'. 
 He's brought her frae her mother's bower, 
 Unto his flrongefl caftle and tower. 
 But ay me cried and made great moan, 
 And ay the tear came trickling down. 
 Come up, come up, faid the foremoft man ; 
 I think our bride comes flowly on. 
 O Lady, fits your faddle awry? 
 Or is your fleed for you owre high? 
 My faddle is not fet awry, 
 Nor carries me my fleed owre high : 
 But I am weary of my life, 
 Since I maun be Lord BOTH WELL'S wife. 
 He's blawn his horn fae (harp and fhrill, 
 Up flart the deer on every hill. 
 He's blawn his horn fae lang and loud, 
 Up flart the deer in gude green wood. 
 His Lady Mother lookit owre the caflle wa', 
 And fhe faw them riding ane and a'. 
 She's call'd upon her maids by feven, 
 To mak his bed baith faft and even : 
 She's call'd upon her cooks by nine, 
 To make their dinner fair and fine. 
 When day was gane, and night was come, 
 What ails my love on me to frown? 
 
 * The chorus repeated at the end of each line.
 
 84 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Or does the wind blow in your glove? 
 
 Or runs your mind on another love? 
 
 Nor blows the wind within my glove, 
 
 Nor runs my mind on another love ; 
 
 But I not maid nor maiden am, 
 
 For I'm wi' bairn to another man. 
 
 I thought I'd a maiden fae meek and fae mild, 
 
 But I've nought but a woman wi' child. 
 
 His mother's taen her up to a tower, 
 
 And lockit her in her fecret bower : 
 
 Now, doughter mine, come tell to me, 
 
 Wha's bairn this is that you are wi'? 
 
 mother dear, I canna learn 
 Wha is the faither of my bairn ; 
 
 But as I walk'd in the lowlands my lane, 
 
 1 met a gentleman gallant and fine ; 
 
 He keepit me there fae late and fae lang, 
 
 Frae the ev'ning late till the morning dawn, 
 
 And a' that he gied me to my propine, 
 
 Was a pair of green gloves and a gay gold ring ; 
 
 Three lauchters of his yellow hair, 
 
 In cafe that we fhou'd meet nae mair. 
 
 His Lady Mother went down the flair. 
 
 Now fon, now fon, come tell to me, 
 
 Where's the green gloves I gave to thee. 
 
 I gied to a lady, fae fair and fae fine, 
 
 The green gloves and a gay gold ring; 
 
 But I wad gie my caflles and towers, 
 
 I had that lady within my bowers : 
 
 But I wad gie my very life, 
 
 I had that lady to be my wife. 
 
 Now, keep, now keep your caflles and towers, 
 
 You have that lady within your bowers;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 85 
 
 Now keep, now keep your very life, 
 You have that lady to be your wife. 
 O row my lady in fattin and filk, 
 And wafh my fon in the morning milk. 
 
 Fair MARGARET and Sweet WILLIAM. 
 
 A S it fell out on a long fummer's day 
 
 Two lovers they fat on a hill; 
 They fat together a long fummer's day, 
 And could not talk their fill. 
 
 I fee no harm by you, MARGARET, 
 
 And you fee none by mee : 
 Before to-morrow at eight o'clock 
 
 A rich wedding you mall fee. 
 
 Fair MARGARET fate in her bower-window, 
 
 A combing of her hair; 
 She fpy'd Sweet WILLIAM and his bride, 
 
 As they were a riding near. 
 
 Down me layd her ivory combe, 
 
 And up me bound her hair; 
 She went her way forth of the bower, 
 
 But never more came there. 
 
 When day was gone, and night was come, 
 
 And all men faft afleep, 
 There came the fpirit of Fair M A R G' R E T, 
 
 And flood at WILLIAMS feet. 
 
 God give you joy, you lovers true, 
 In bride-bed faft afleep ; 
 VOL. I. II
 
 86 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Lo ! I am going to my green-grafs grave, 
 And I'm in my winding-meet. 
 
 When day was come, and night was gone, 
 
 And all men wak'd from fleep, 
 Sweet WILLIAM to his lady fay'd, 
 
 My dear, I have caufe to weep. 
 
 I dreamt a dream, my dear lady, 
 
 Such dreames are never good, 
 I dreamt my bower was full of red fwine, 
 
 And my bride-bed full of blood. 
 
 Such dreams, fuch dreams, my honoured Sir, 
 
 They never do prove good ; 
 To dream thy bower was full of red fwine, 
 
 And thy bride-bed full of blood. 
 
 He called up his merry men all, 
 
 By one, by two, and by three : 
 Saying, I'll away to Fair MARG'RETS bower, 
 
 By the leave of my lady. 
 
 And when he came to fair MARG'RETS bower, 
 
 He knocked at the ring; 
 So ready were her feven brethren 
 
 To let Sweet WILLIAM in. 
 
 Then he turned up the covering-meet, 
 
 Pray let me fee thee dead; 
 Methinks fhe does look pale and wan, 
 
 She has loft her cherry red. 
 
 I'll do more for thee, MARGARET, 
 
 Than any of thy kin; 
 For I will kifs thy pale wan lips, 
 
 Though a fmile I cannot win.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 87 
 
 With that befpake the feven brethren, 
 
 Making mofl piteous mone : 
 You may go kifs your jolly brown bride, 
 
 And let our fitter alone. 
 
 If I do kifs my jolly brown bride, 
 
 I do but what is right; 
 For I made no vow to your fitter dear, 
 
 By day, nor yet by night. 
 
 Pray tell me then how much you'll deal 
 
 Of your white bread and your wine ; 
 So much as is dealt at her funeral to-day, 
 
 To-morrow mail be dealt at mine. 
 
 Fair MARGARET dyed to-day, to-day, 
 
 Sweet WILLIAM dyed the morrow : 
 Fair MARGARET dyed for pure true love, 
 
 Sweet WILLIAM dyed for forrow. 
 
 MARGARET was buryed in the lower chancel, 
 
 And WILLIAM in the higher : 
 Out of her brett there fprang a rofe, 
 
 And out of his a briar. 
 
 They grew as high as the church-top, 
 
 Till they could grow no higher; 
 And there they grew in a true lovers knot, 
 
 Made all the folke admire. 
 
 Then came the clerk of the parifli, 
 
 As you this truth fhall hear, 
 And by misfortune cut them down, 
 
 Or they had ttill been there. 
 H 2
 
 88 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Fine Flowers o' the Valley. 
 
 'HpHERE was three ladies in a ha', 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 There cam three lords amang them a', 
 The red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 The firfl of them was clad in red, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 O lady fair, will ye be my bride? 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 The fecond of them was clad in green, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 O lady fair, will ye be my queen? 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 The third of them was clad in yellow, 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 
 lady fair will ye be my marrow?. 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 You muft afk my father dear, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Likewife the mother that did me bear, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 You muft afk my fifter ANN, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 And not forget my brother JOHN, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 1 have afk't thy father dear, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 89 
 
 Likewife the mother that did thee bear, 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 I have afk't thy fitter ANN, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 But I forgot thy brother JOHN, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 Her father led her through the ha', 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Her mother danc'd before them a', 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 Her fitter ANN led her through the clofs, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Her brother JOHN put her on her horfe, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 You are high and I am low, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Let me have a kifs before you go, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 She was louting down to kifs him fweet, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Wi' his penknife he wounded her deep, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 O lead me over into yon ftile, 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 That I may flop and breathe a while, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 O lead me over into yon flair, 
 Fine flowers i' the valley ;
 
 90 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 For there I'll ly and bleed ne mair, 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 O what will you leave your father dear? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 That milk-white deed that brought me here, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 O what will you leave your mother dear? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 The filken gown that I did wear, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 O what will you leave your fifter ANN? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 My filken fnood and golden fan, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 What will you leave your brother JOHN? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 The higheft gallows to hing him on : 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 What will you leave your brother JOHN'S wife? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 Grief and forrow to end her life, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 What will you leave your brother JOHN'S bairns? 
 
 Fine flowers i' the valley; 
 The world wide for them to range, 
 
 Wi' the red, green, and the yellow. 
 
 She louted down to gie a kifs, 
 With a hey and a lily gay;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 91 
 
 He fluck his penknife in her hafs, 
 And the rofe it fmells fo fweetly. 
 
 Ride up, ride up, cry'd the foremoft man, 
 
 With a hey and a lilly gay; 
 I think our bride looks pale and wan, 
 
 And the rofe it fmells fo fweetly. 
 
 LIZIE WAN. 
 
 T I Z I E W A N fits at her father's bower door, 
 
 Weeping and making a mane, 
 And by there came her father dear, 
 What ails thee, LIZIE WAN? 
 
 I ail, and I ail, dear father, fhe faid, 
 
 And I'll tell you a reafon for why, 
 There is a child between my twa fides, 
 
 Between my dear Billy and I. 
 
 Now LIZIE WAN fits at her fathers bower door, 
 
 Sighing and making a mane, 
 And by there came her brother dear, 
 
 What ails thee, LIZIE WAN? 
 
 I ail, I ail, dear brother, fhe faid, 
 
 And I'll tell you a reafon why, 
 There is a child between my twa fides, 
 
 Between you, dear Billy, and I. 
 
 And haft thou told father and mother of that, 
 
 And haft thou told fae o' me? 
 And he has drawn his gude braid fword, 
 
 That hang down by his knee.
 
 92 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And he has cutted off L i z i E WA N'S head, 
 
 And hir fair body in three, 
 And he's awa to his mother's bower, 
 
 And fair aghaft was he. 
 
 What ails thee, what ails thee, G E o R D Y WA N, 
 
 What ails thee fae faft to rin? 
 For I fee by thy ill colour, 
 
 Some fallow's deed thou haft done. 
 
 Some fallow's deed I have done mother, 
 
 And I pray you pardon me, 
 For I've cutted off my greyhound's head, 
 
 He wadnae rin for me. 
 
 Thy grayhound's bluid was never fae red, 
 
 O my fon G E o R D Y WA N, 
 For I fee by thy ill colour, 
 
 Some fallow's deed thou haft done. 
 
 Some fallow's deed I hae done mother, 
 
 And I pray you pardon me, 
 For I hae cutted off L i z i E WAN'S head, 
 
 And hir fair body in three. 
 
 O what will thou do when thy father comes hame, 
 
 O my fon G E o R D Y WAN? 
 I'll fet my foot in a bottomlefs boat, 
 
 And fwim to the fea ground. 
 
 And when will thou come hame again, 
 
 O my fon G E o R D Y WAN, 
 The fun and the moon mall dance on the green, 
 
 That night when I come hame.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 93 
 
 MAY COLVIN. 
 
 T^ALSE Sir JOHN a wooing came, 
 
 To a maid of beauty fair; 
 MAY COLVIN was this lady's name, 
 Her father's only heir. 
 
 He woo'd her butt, he woo'd her ben, 
 
 He woo'd her in the ha', 
 Until he got this lady's confent, 
 
 To mount and ride awa'. 
 
 He went down to her father's bower, 
 Where all the fteeds did (land, 
 
 And he's taken one of the beft fleeds 
 That was in her father's hand. 
 
 He's got on, and fhe's got on, 
 
 And faft as they could flee, 
 Until they came to a lonefome part, 
 
 A rock by the fide of the fea. 
 
 Loup off the fteid, fays falfe Sir JOHN, 
 
 Your bridal bed you fee, 
 For I have drowned feven young ladies, 
 
 The eight ane you fhall be. 
 
 Caft off, caft oft", my M A Y COLVIN, 
 
 All, and your filken gown, 
 For its o'er good, and o'er coftly, 
 
 To rot in the fait fea foam. 
 
 Caft off, caft off, my MAY COLVIN, 
 All, and your embroidered fhune,
 
 94 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 For they are o'er good and o'er coflly, 
 To rot in the fait fea foam. 
 
 O turn you about, O falfe Sir JOHN, 
 
 And look to the leaf of the tree, 
 For it never became a gentleman, 
 
 A naked woman to fee. 
 
 He turn'd himfelf ftraight round about, 
 
 To look to the leaf of the tree, 
 So fwift as MAY COLVIN was 
 
 To throw him in the fea. 
 
 O help, O help, my MAY COLVIN, 
 
 O help or elfe I'll drown : 
 I'll take you name to your father's bower, 
 
 And fet you down fafe and found. 
 
 No help, no help, you falfe Sir JOHN, 
 
 No help, nor pity thee ; 
 Though feven king's daughters you have drown 'd, 
 
 But the eight (hall not be me. 
 
 So me went on her father's fteed, 
 
 As fwift as me could flee, 
 And fhe cam hame to her father's bower, 
 
 Before it was break of day. 
 
 Up then fpak the pretty parrot, 
 
 MAY COLVIN where have you been? 
 
 What has become of falfe Sir JOHN, 
 That woo'd you fo late the ftreen ? 
 
 He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben, 
 He woo'd you in the ha',
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 95 
 
 Until he got your own confent 
 For to mount and gang awa'. 
 
 O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot, 
 
 Lay not the blame upon me. 
 Your cup mail be of the flowered gold, 
 
 Your cage of the root of the tree. 
 
 Up then fpake the king himfelf, 
 
 In the bed-chamber where he lay, 
 What ails the pretty parrot 
 
 That prattles fo long ere day ? 
 
 There came a cat to my cage door, 
 
 It almoft worried me, 
 And I was calling on MAY COLVIN 
 
 To take the cat from me. 
 
 The wee wee Man. 
 
 A S I was walking all alone, 
 
 Between a water and a wa', 
 And there I fpy'd a wee wee man, 
 And he was the leaft that ere I faw. 
 
 His legs were fcarce a fhathmont's length, 
 And thick and thimber was his thighs, 
 
 Between his brows there was a fpan, 
 
 And between his moulders there was three. 
 
 He took up a meikle (lane, 
 
 And he flang't as far as I could fee, 
 
 Though I had been a WALLACE wight, 
 I coudna liften't to my knee.
 
 96 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 O wee wee man, but thou be flrong, 
 O tell me where thy dwelling be ? 
 
 My dwelling's down at yon' bonny bower, 
 O will you go with me and fee? 
 
 On we lap and awa we rade, 
 
 Till we came to yon bonny green ; 
 
 We 'lighted down for to bait our horfe, 
 And out there came a lady fine. 
 
 Four-and-twenty at her back, 
 And they were a' clad out in green, 
 
 Though the King of Scotland had been there, 
 The ward o' them might ha' been his queen. 
 
 On we lap and awa we rade, 
 
 Till we came to yon bonny ha', 
 Where the roof was o' the beaten gould, 
 
 And the floor was o' the cryflal a'. 
 
 When we came to the (lair foot, 
 Ladies were dancing jimp and fma', 
 
 But in the twinkling of an eye, 
 My wee wee man was clean awa'. 
 
 Sir HUGH. 
 
 A ' T H E boys of merry Linkim, 
 
 War playing at the ba', 
 An up it (lands him fweet Sir HUGH, 
 The flower among them a'. 
 
 He keppit the ba' than wi' his foot, 
 And catcht it wi' his knee,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 97 
 
 And even in at the Jews window, 
 He gart the bonny ba' flee. 
 
 Cad out the ba' to me, fair maid, 
 
 Call out the ba' to me. 
 Ah never a bit of it, me fays, 
 
 Till ye come up to me. 
 
 Come up, fweet HUGH, come up, dear HUGH, 
 
 Come up and get the ba'. 
 I winna come, I mayna come, 
 
 Without my bonny boys a'. 
 
 Come up, fweet HUGH, come up, dear HUGH, 
 
 Come up, and fpeak to me; 
 I mayna come, I winna come, 
 
 Without my bonny boys three. 
 
 She's taen her to the Jew's garden, 
 
 Whar the grafs grew lang and green, 
 She's pu'd an apple red and white, 
 
 To wyle the bonny boy in. 
 
 She's wyled him in through ae chamber, 
 
 She's wyl'd him in through twa, 
 She's wyl'd him till hir ain chamber, 
 
 The flower out owr them a'. 
 
 She's laid him on a dreffin board, 
 
 Whar fhe did often dine, 
 She flack a penknife to his heart, 
 
 And drefs'd him like a fwine. 
 
 She row'd him in a cake of lead, 
 Bade him ly ftill and fleep, 
 VOL. I. (7) I
 
 98 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 She threw him i' the Jew's draw-well, 
 It was fifty fathom deep. 
 
 Whan belles were rung, and mafs was fung, 
 
 And a' man bound to bed, 
 Every lady got hame her fon, 
 
 But fweet Sir HUGH was dead. 
 
 Bonnie MAY. 
 
 TT was on an ev'ning fae faft and fae clear, 
 
 A bonny lafs was milking the kye, 
 And by came a troup of gentlemen, 
 And rode the bonny laffie by. 
 
 Then one of them faid unto her, 
 
 Bonny lafs, pr'ythee mew me the way. 
 
 O if I do fae it may breed me wae, 
 For langer I dare nae flay. 
 
 But dark and mifly was the night 
 Before the bonny lafs came hame ; 
 
 Now where hae you been, my ae doughter? 
 I am fure you was nae your lane. 
 
 O father, a tod has come o'er your lamb, 
 
 A gentleman of high degree, 
 And ay whan he fpake he lifted his hat, 
 
 And bonny bonny blinkit his ee. 
 
 Or e'er fix months were paft and gane, 
 Six months but and other three, 
 
 The lame begud for to fret and to frown, 
 And think lang for his blinkin ec.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 99 
 
 O wae be to my father's fhepherd, 
 
 An ill death may he die ; 
 He bigged the bughts fae far frae hame, 
 
 And tryfled a gentleman to me. 
 
 It fell upon another fair evening, 
 
 The bonny laffie was milking her ky, 
 And by came the troop of gentlemen, 
 
 And rode the bonnie laffie by. 
 
 Then one of them ftopt, and faid to her, 
 
 Wha's aught that baby ye are wi' ? 
 The laffie began for to blufh, and think 
 
 To a father as good as ye. 
 
 O had your tongue, my bonny MAY, 
 Sae loud I hear you lie ; 
 
 dinnae you mind the mifty night 
 I was in the bught with thee ? 
 
 Now he's come aff his milk-white fteed, 
 
 And he has taen her hame : 
 Now let your father bring hame the ky, 
 
 You ne'er mair mail ca' them agen. 
 
 1 am a lord of caftles and towers, 
 With fifty ploughs of land and three, 
 
 And I have gotten the bonnieft lafs 
 That is in this countrie. 
 
 MACPHERSON'S Rant. 
 
 T'VE fpent my time in rioting, 
 
 Debauch'd my health and ftrength ; 
 I 2
 
 ioo SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I've pillag'd, plunder'd, murdered, 
 
 But now, alas ! at length, 
 I'm brought to punifhment direcl, 
 
 Pale death draws near to me ; 
 This end I never did project, 
 
 To hang upon a tree. 
 
 To hang upon a tree ! a tree ! 
 
 That curs'd unhappy death ! 
 Like to a wolf to worried be, 
 
 And choaked in the breath. 
 My very heart would furely break, 
 
 When this I think upon. 
 Did not my courage fmgular, 
 
 Bid penfive thoughts begone. 
 
 No man on earth that draweth breath, 
 
 More courage had than I ; 
 I dar'd my foes unto their face, 
 
 And would not from them fly ; 
 This grandeur flout, I did keep out, 
 
 Like HECTOR, manfullie : 
 Then wonder one like me, fo flout, 
 
 Should hang upon a tree. 
 
 Th' Egyptian band I did command, 
 
 With courage more by far, 
 Than ever did a general 
 
 His foldiers in the war. 
 Being fear'd by all, both great and fmall, 
 
 I liv'd mofl joyfullie : 
 O ! curfe upon this fate of mine, 
 
 To hang upon a tree.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 101 
 
 As for my life, I do not care, 
 
 If juftice would take place, 
 And bring my fellow plunderers 
 
 Unto this fame difgrace. 
 For PETER BROWN, that notour loon, 
 
 Efcap'd, and was made free; 
 O ! curfe upon this fate of mine, 
 
 To hang upon a tree. 
 
 Both law and juftice buried are, 
 
 And fraud and guile fucceed, 
 The guilty pafs unpunifhed, 
 
 If money interceed. 
 The Laird of Grant, that Highland faint, 
 
 His mighty majeftie, 
 He pleads the cause of PETER BROWN, 
 
 And lets MACPHERSON die. 
 
 The deft'ny of my life contriv'd 
 
 By thofe whom I oblig'd, 
 Rewarded me much ill for good, 
 
 And left me no refuge. 
 For BRACO DUFF, in rage enough, 
 
 He firft laid hands on me ; 
 And if that death would not prevent, 
 
 Avenged wou'd I be. 
 
 As for my life, it is but Ihort, 
 
 When I mail be no more; 
 To part with life I am content, 
 
 As any heretofore. 
 Therefore, good people all, take heed, 
 
 This warning take by me, 
 According to the lives you lead, 
 
 Rewarded you (hall be. 
 
 I 3
 
 102 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Gillicrankie. 
 
 /"^LAYERS, and his Highlandmen, 
 
 Came down upo' the raw, man, 
 
 Who being (lout, gave mony a clout; 
 
 The lads began to claw then. 
 With fword and terge into their hand, 
 
 Wi' which they were nae flaw, man, 
 Wi' mony a fearful heavy figh, 
 
 The lads began to claw then. 
 
 O'er bum, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er flank, 
 
 She flang amang them a', man; 
 The Butter-box got mony knocks, 
 
 Their riggings paid for a' then. 
 They got their paiks, wi' fudden ftraiks, 
 
 Which to their grief they faw, man ; 
 Wi' clinkum clankum o'er their crowns, 
 
 The lads began to fa' then. 
 
 Hur fkipt about, hur leapt about, 
 
 And flang amang them a', man, 
 The Englifh blades got broken heads, 
 
 Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then. 
 The durk and door made their laft hour. 
 
 And prov'd their final fa', man, 
 They thought the devil had been there, 
 
 That play'd them flck a paw then. 
 
 The folemn League and Covenant 
 Came whigging up the hills, man, 
 
 Thought Highland trews durft not refafe 
 For to fubfcribe their bills then.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 103 
 
 In WILLIE'S name they thought nae ane 
 
 Durft Hop their courfe at a', man, 
 But hur nane fell, wi' mony a knock, 
 
 Cryd, Furich-Whiggs awa', man. 
 
 Sir EVAN D u , and his men true, 
 
 Came linking up the brink, man ; 
 The Hogan Dutch they feared fuch, 
 
 They bred a horrid ftink then. 
 The true MACLEAN, and his fierce men, 
 
 Came in amang them a' man; 
 Nane durft withftand his heavy hand, 
 
 All fled and ran awa' then. 
 
 OK on a ri, OK on a ri, 
 
 "Why mould me lofe King SHAMES, man? 
 Off rig in di, OK rig in di, 
 
 She mail break a' her banes then; 
 W\\h furichini/h, an' flay a while, 
 
 And fpeak a word or tvva, man, 
 She's gi' a ftraike, out o'er the neck, 
 
 Before ye win awa' then. 
 
 O fy for (hame, ye're three for ane, 
 
 Hur nane-fell's won the day, man. 
 King SHAMES' red-coats mould be hung up, 
 
 Becaufe they ran awa', then ; 
 Had bent their brows, like Highland trows, 
 
 And made as lang a flay, man, 
 They'd fav'd their king, that facred thing, 
 
 And W i L L i E'd ran awa' then.
 
 104 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Sheriff-Muir. 
 
 TT HERE'S fome fay that we wan, 
 
 Some fay that they wan, 
 Some fay that nane wan at a' man ; 
 But one thing I'm fure, 
 That at Sheriff-muir, 
 A battle there was, which I fa', man; 
 
 And we ran, and they ran, and they ran, and we ran, 
 and we ran, and they ran awd man. 
 
 Brave A R G Y L E and BELHAVEN, 
 
 Not like frighted L N, 
 
 Which R o T H E s and H A D D i N G x o N fa', man ; 
 
 For they all with W i G H T M A N 
 
 Advanc'd on the right, man, 
 While others took flight, being ra', man, 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Lord ROXBURGH was there, 
 
 In order to mare 
 With DOUGLAS, who flood not in awe, man, 
 
 Volunteerly to ramble 
 
 With Lord L o u D o u N CAMPBELL, 
 Brave I L A Y did fuffer for a', man, 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Sir JOHN S c HAW, the great knight, 
 
 W T ith broad-fword mofl bright, 
 On horfeback he ftrangely did charge, man, 
 
 An hero that's bold, 
 
 None could him with-hold, 
 He ftoutly encountcr'd the targemen. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 105 
 
 For the cowardly W M, 
 
 For fear they fhould cut him, 
 Seeing glittering broad-fwords with a pa', man, 
 
 And that in fuch thrang 
 
 Made B A i R D edicang, 
 And from the brave clans ran awa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Brave MAR and PANMURE 
 
 Were firm I am fure, 
 The latter was kidnapt awa', man, 
 
 With brifk men about, 
 
 Brave HARRY retook 
 His brother, and laught at them a', man. 
 And ive ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Grave MARSHAL and L i T H G w, 
 
 And GLENGARY'S pith too, 
 Affifted by brave L o G G i A-M AN, 
 
 And GORDONS the bright, 
 
 So boldly did fight, 
 
 The red-coats took flight and awa', man, 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 STRATH MORE and CLANRONALD 
 
 Cry'd ftill, advance DONALD, 
 Till both thefe heroes did fa', man ; 
 
 For there was fuch naming, 
 
 And broad fwords a clafhing, 
 Brave F o R F A R himfelf got a cla', man, 
 And ?oe ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Lord PERTH flood the ftorm, 
 S E A F o R T H but lukewarm, 
 K r L s Y T H and STRATHALLAN not fla', man ;
 
 106 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And HAMILTON pled, 
 The men were not bred, 
 For he had no fancy to fa', man, 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Brave generous SOUTHESK, 
 
 TILEBAIRN was brifk, 
 Whofe father indeed would not dra', man, 
 
 Into the fame yoke, 
 
 Which ferv'd for a cloak, 
 To keep the eftate 'twixt them twa, man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Lord R o L L o not fear'd, 
 
 K i N T o R E and his beard, 
 P i T s L i G o and O G i L v i E a', man, 
 
 And Brothers BALFOURS, 
 
 They flood the firft fhow'rs, 
 
 CLACKMANNAN and BUR LEIGH did cla', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 But C L E P P A N acted pretty, 
 
 And S T R o w A N the witty, 
 A poet that pleafes us a', man ; 
 
 For mine is but rhime, 
 
 In rcfpecl of what's fine, 
 Or what he is able to dra', man, 
 
 Though we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 For H u N T L Y and S i x c L A i R 
 
 They both play'd the tinclair, 
 With confciences black like a era's man. 
 
 Some Angus and Fifemen 
 
 They ran for their life, man, 
 And ne'er a LOT'S wife there at a', man, 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. ] 
 
 Then L ~E the tray tor, 
 
 Who betray'd his matter, 
 His king, and his country, and a', man, 
 
 Pretending MAR might 
 
 Give order to fight, 
 To the right of the army awa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 Then L E for fear, 
 
 Of what he might hear, 
 Took D R u M M o N D'S beft horfe and awa', man, 
 
 Inftead of going to Perth 
 
 He croffed the Firth, 
 Alongfl Stirling-bridge and awa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 To London he prefs'd, 
 
 And there he addrefs'd, 
 That he behav'd beft of them a', man ; 
 
 And there without ftrife 
 
 Got fettled for life, 
 An hundred a-year to his fa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 In Borrowftounnefs 
 
 He refides with difgrace, 
 Till his neck ftands in need of a draw, man, 
 
 And then in a tether 
 
 He'll fvving from a ladder, 
 Go off the ftage with a pa', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 ROB ROY flood watch 
 On a hill for to catch 
 The booty for ought that I fa', man,
 
 io8 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 For he ne'er advanc'd, 
 From the place he was ftanc'd, 
 'Till no more to do there at a' man. 
 For we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 So we all took the flight, 
 
 And M-- Y the Wright; 
 But D M the Smith was a bra-man, 
 
 For he took the gout, 
 
 Which truly was wit, 
 By judging it time to withdra', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 And Trumpet M E, 
 
 Whofe breeks were not clean, 
 Thro' misfortune he happen'd to fa', man, 
 
 By faving his neck 
 
 His trumpet did break, 
 Came off without mufick at a', man. 
 And we ran, and they ran, etc. 
 
 So there fuch a race was, 
 
 As ne'er in that place was, 
 And as little chafe was at a', man; 
 
 From other they ran, 
 
 Without tuck of drum ; 
 They did not make ufe of a pa', man. 
 
 And luc ran, and they ran, and they ran, and we ran, 
 
 and lae ran, and they ran awd , man.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 109 
 
 Tranent Muir. 
 
 HE CHEVALIER, being void of fear, 
 
 Did march up Brifle brae, man, 
 And thro' Tranent, e'er he did ftent, 
 
 As faft as he could gae, man : 
 While General COPE did taunt and mock, 
 
 Wi' mony a loud huzza, man; 
 But e'er next morn proclaim'd the cock, 
 We heard another craw, man. 
 
 The brave LOCHIEL, as I heard tell, 
 
 Led C A M E R o N s on in clouds, man : 
 The morning fair, and clear the air, 
 
 They loos'd with devilifli thuds, man; 
 Down guns they threw, and fwords they drew, 
 
 And foon did chace them aff, man; 
 On Seaton Crafts they buft their chafts, 
 
 And gart them rin like daft, man. 
 
 The bluff dragoons fvvore blood and 'oons, 
 
 They'd make the rebels run, man ; 
 And yet they flee when them they fee, 
 
 And winna fire a gun, man. 
 They turn'd their back, the foot they brake, 
 
 Such terror feiz'd them a', man ; 
 Some wet their cheeks, fome fyl'd their breeks, 
 
 And fome for fear did fa', man. 
 
 The volunteers prick'd up their ears, 
 
 And vow gin they were croufe, man : 
 But when the bairns faw't turn to earn'fl, 
 
 They were not worth a loufe, man ; 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 no SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Maift feck gade hame; O fy for fhame! 
 
 They'd better flaid awa', man, 
 Than wi' cockade to make parade, 
 
 And do nae good at a', man. 
 
 M H the great, when herfell fhit, 
 
 Un'wares did ding him o'er, man, 
 Yet wad nae ftand to bear a hand, 
 
 But aff fou fafl did fcour, man ; 
 O'er Soutra hill, e'er he flood flill, 
 
 Before he tafted meat, man : 
 Troth he may brag of his fwift nag, 
 
 That bare him aff fae fleet, man. 
 
 And S N keen to clear the een 
 
 Of rebels far in wrang, man ; 
 Did never flrive wi piftols five, 
 
 But gallopp'd with the thrang, man : 
 He turn'd his back, and in a crack 
 
 Was cleanly out of fight, man ; 
 And thought it bed; it was nae jefl 
 
 Wi' Highlanders to fight, man. 
 
 Mangft a' the gang nane bade the bang 
 
 But twa, and ane was tane, man; 
 For CAMPBELL rade, but M v R i E flaid, 
 
 And fair he paid the kain, man ; 
 Fell fkelps he got was war than fhot 
 
 Frae the fliarp-edg'd claymore, man ; 
 Frae mony a fpout came running out 
 
 His reeking-het red gore, man. 
 
 But G A R D'N E R brave did flill behave 
 Like to a hero bright, man;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. in 
 
 His courage true, like him were few 
 
 That Hill defpifed flight, man ; 
 For King and laws, and country's cause, 
 
 In Honour's bed he lay, man ; 
 His life, but not his courage, fled, 
 
 While he had breath to draw, man. 
 
 And Major B o w L E , that worthy foul, 
 
 Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
 His horfe being mot, it was his lot 
 
 For to get mony a wound, man : 
 Lieutenant S -H, of Irifh birth, 
 
 Frae whom he call'd for aid, man, 
 Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 
 
 And wadna be gainfaid, man. 
 
 He made fick hafte, fae fpur'd his beafl, 
 
 Twas little there he faw, man : 
 To Berwick rade, and fafely faid, 
 
 The Scots were rebels a', man ; 
 But let that end, for well 'tis kend 
 
 His ufe and wont to lie, man ; 
 The Teague is naught, he never faught, 
 
 When he had room to flee, man. 
 
 And CAD DELL dreft, amang the reft, 
 
 With gun and good claymore, man ; 
 On gelding grey he rode that way, 
 
 With piftols fet before, man ; 
 The caufe was good, he'd fpend his blood, 
 
 Before that he would yield, man ; 
 But the night before he left the cor, 
 
 And never fac'd the field, man. 
 K 2
 
 ii2 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 But gallant ROGER, like a foger, 
 
 Stood and bravely fought, man : 
 I'm wae to tell, at lafl he fell, 
 
 But mae down wi' him brought, man. 
 At point of death, wi' his lad breath, 
 
 (Some {landing round in ring, man), 
 On's back lying flat, he wav'd his hat, 
 
 And cry'dj God fave the King, man. 
 
 Some Highland rogues, like hungry dogs, 
 
 Neglecting to purfue, man, 
 About they fac'd, and in great haile 
 
 Upon the booty flew, man ; 
 And they as gain, for all their pain, 
 
 Are deck'd wi' fpoils of war, man ; 
 Fow bald can tell how her nainfell 
 
 Was ne'er fae pra before, man. 
 
 At the thorn tree, which you may fee, 
 
 Beweft the meadow-mill, man, 
 There mony flain lay on the plain; 
 
 The clans purfuing flill, man. 
 Sic unco' hacks, and deadly whacks, 
 
 I never faw the like, man, 
 Loft hands and heads coft them their deads, 
 
 That fell near Prefton-dyke, man. 
 
 That afternoon, when a' was done, 
 
 I gaed to fee the fray, man ; 
 But had I wift what after pad, 
 
 I'd better (laid away, man : 
 On Seaton fands, wi' nimble hands, 
 
 They pick'd my pockets bare, man ; 
 But I wifh ne'er to drie fick fear, 
 
 For a' the fum and mair, man.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 113 
 
 The Archer's March. 
 
 C O U N D, found the mufic, found it, 
 
 Let hills and dales rebound it ; 
 Let hills and dales rebound it, 
 
 In praife of archery ; 
 Its origin divine is, 
 The practice brave and fine is, 
 Which generoufly inclines us 
 
 To guard our liberty. 
 
 Art by the gods employed, 
 By which heroes enjoyed, 
 By which heroes enjoyed 
 
 The wreath of vidlory. 
 The deity of Parnaffus, 
 The god of foft careffes, 
 Chafte CYNTHIA and her laffes 
 
 Delight in archery. 
 
 See, fee yon bow extended, 
 'Tis JOVE himfelf that bends it, 
 'Tis JOVE himfelf that bends it, 
 
 O'er clouds on high it glows. 
 All nations, Turks and Parthians, 
 The Tartars and the Scythians, 
 The Arabs, Moors, and Indians, 
 
 With brav'ry draw their bows. 
 
 Our own true records tell us, 
 That none cou'd e'er excel us, 
 That none cou'd e'er excel us 
 In martial archery ; 
 (8) K 3
 
 ii4 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 With fhafts our fires engaging, 
 Oppos'd the Romans raging, 
 Defeat the fierce Norvegian, 
 
 And fpar'd few Danes to flee. 
 
 Witnefs Largs and Loncartie, 
 Dunkel and Aberlemny, 
 Dunkel and Aberlemny, 
 
 Roflin and Bannockburn. 
 
 The Cheviots all the border 
 
 Were bowmen in brave order, 
 Told enemies, if further 
 
 They mov'd, they'd ne'er return. 
 
 Sound, found the mufic, found it, 
 Let hills and dales rebound it, 
 Let hills and dales rebound it, 
 
 In praife of archery : 
 Us'd as a game it pleafes, 
 The mind to joy it raifes, 
 And throws off all difeafes 
 
 Of lazy luxury. 
 
 Now no more care beguiling, 
 When all the year looks fmiling, 
 When all the year looks fmiling, 
 
 With healthful harmony : 
 The fun in glory glowing, 
 With morning dew bellowing 
 Sweet fragrance, life, and growing, 
 
 To flowers and ev'ry tree. 
 
 'Tis now the archers royal, 
 An hearty band and loyal, 
 An hearty band and loyal, 
 
 That in jufl thoughts agree,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 115 
 
 Appear in ancient bravery, 
 Defpifmg all bafe knavery, 
 "Which tends to bring in flavery 
 Souls worthy to live free. 
 
 Sound, found the mufic, found it, 
 Fill up the glafs and round wi't, 
 Fill up the glafs and round wi't, 
 Health and profperity 
 To our great CHIEF and Officers, 
 T our Prefident and Counfellors; 
 To all who, like their brave forbears, 
 Delight in archery. 
 
 General LESLY'S March. 
 
 "JV/TARCH, march, march, 
 
 Why the d don't ye march? 
 
 Stand to your arms, my lads, 
 Fight in good order, 
 Front about, ye mufketeers all, 
 Till ye come to the Englim border, 
 
 Stand till't, and fight like men, 
 
 True gofpel to maintain, 
 The parliament's blyth to fee us a' coming ; 
 
 When to the kirk we come, 
 
 We'll purge it ilka room, 
 Frae Popifh relicks, and a' fuch innovations, 
 
 That a' the warld may fee, 
 
 There's nane i' the right but we, 
 Of the auld Scottifh nation.
 
 ii6 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 JENNY (hall wear the hood, 
 
 J o c K Y the fark of G o D ; 
 
 And the kid fou of whittles, 
 
 That make fick a cleiro, 
 
 Our pipers bra, fhall hae them a', whate'er comes on it; 
 Bufk up your plaids, my lads, cock up your bonnets. 
 March, march, etc. 
 
 Highland March. 
 By Sir Harry Erjkinc. 
 
 T N the garb of old Gaul, wi' the fire of old Rome, 
 
 From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia \ve come, 
 Where the Romans endeavour'd our country to gain, 
 But our anceftors fought, and they fought not in vain. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Such our love of liberty, our country, and our laws, 
 That like our ancejlors of old, we Jiand by Freedom's 
 
 caufe ; 
 We'll bravely fight like heroes bold, for honour and 
 
 applaufc, 
 And defy the l^rench, with all their art, to alter our 
 
 laws. 
 
 No effeminate cuftoms our finews unbrace, 
 No luxurious tables enervate our race, 
 Our loud-founding pipe bears the true martial ftrain, 
 So do we the old Scottifh valour retain. 
 Such our love, etc.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 117 
 
 We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale, 
 As fwift as the roe which the hound doth affail, 
 As the full moon in autumn our fliields do appear, 
 MINERVA would dread to encounter our fpear. 
 Such our love, etc. 
 
 As a florin in the ocean when BOREAS blows, 
 So are we enrag'd when we rum on our foes; 
 We fons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks, 
 Dam the force of our foes with our thundering ftrokes. 
 Such our love, etc. 
 
 Quebec and Cape Breton, the pride of old France, 
 In their troops fondly boafted till we did advance; 
 But when our claymores they faw us produce, 
 Their courage did fail, and they fued for a truce. 
 Suck our love, etc. 
 
 In our realm may the fury of faction long ceafe, 
 May our councils be wife, and our commerce increafe ; 
 And in Scotia's cold climate may each of us find, 
 That our friends ftill prove true, and our beauties prove 
 
 kind. 
 
 Then we' II defend our liberty , our country, and our laws, 
 And teach our late pojlerity to fight in Freedom's caufe, 
 That they like our ancestors bold, etc. 
 
 Little war. ye, etc. 
 
 T 1 TTL E wat ye whds coming, 
 
 Little wat ye who's coming, 
 Little wat ye w/ia's coming, 
 JOCK and T A M and a's coming.
 
 ii8 S C O T S S O N G S. 
 
 DUNCAN'S coining, DONA L D'S coming, 
 C o L i N'S coming, R o N A L D'S coming, 
 Dou GAL'S coming, LAUGH LAN'S coming, 
 A L A s T E R and a's coming. 
 
 Little wat ye who's coming, 
 
 JOCK and T A M and ds coming. 
 
 BORLAND and his men's coming, 
 The CAMERONS and M ' L E A N s coming, 
 The GORDONS and M'GREGORS coming, 
 A' the DUNYWASTLES' coming. 
 
 Little wat ye, etc. 
 
 M 'G i L v R E Y of Drumglafs is coming. 
 
 W i G T o N'S coming, NITHSDALE'S coming, 
 CARNWATH'S coming, KENMURE'S coming, 
 DERWENT WATER and FOSTER'S coming, 
 WITHRINGTON and N A i R N'S coming. 
 
 Little wat ye, etc. 
 
 Blyth C o w H i L L and a's coming. 
 
 The Laird ofM'lNTOSHis coming, 
 
 M ' C R A B i E and M'DONALD'S coming, 
 
 The M ' K E N z i E s and M'PHERSONS' coming, 
 
 A' the wild M ' C R A w s ' coming. 
 
 Little wat yc, etc. 
 
 DONALD GUN and a's coming. 
 
 They gloom, they glowr, they look fae big, 
 At ilka flroke they'll fell a Whig; 
 They'll fright the fuels of the Pockpuds, 
 For mony a buttock bare's coming. 
 Little wat yc, etc.
 
 F R A G M E N T S 
 
 HEROIC BALLADS 
 
 HARDYKNUTE: Or, The Battle of LARGS*. 
 
 STATELY ftapt he eafl the wa, 
 And flately flapt he wefl : 
 Full feventy zeirs he now had fene, 
 With fkerfs fevin zeirs of reft. 
 He livit quhen Britons breach of faith 
 
 Wroucht Scotland meikle wae; 
 And ay his fword tauld to their fkaith, 
 He was their deadly fae. 
 
 Hie on a hill his caftle ftude, 
 With halls and towirs a hicht, 
 
 * The battle of Largs was fought on the ifl of Augufl 
 1263, between Alexander the III. king of Scotland and Ha- 
 quin the V. king of Norway, in their contention for the 
 Northern and Weftern Ifles. Haquin had already reduced 
 Bute and Arran; and making a defcent with 20,000 men on 
 the continent, was encountered and defeated by the Scots ar- 
 my at Largs in Airfhire ; upon which he retreated to his 
 mips, and his fleet being diffipated, and in part deftroyed by 
 a tempeft, he returned to the Orkneys, from whence he had 
 made the defcent, and there, after a few days illnefs, expired.
 
 120 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 And guidly chambres fair to fee, 
 Quhair he lodgit mony a knicht. 
 
 His dame fae peirlefs anes and fair, 
 For chad and bewtie deimt, 
 
 Nae marrow had in all the land, 
 Saif EMERGARD the queen. 
 
 Full thirtein fons to him fcho bare, 
 
 All men of valour flout; 
 In bludy ficht with fword in hand 
 
 Nyne loft their lives bot doubt; 
 Four zit remain, lang may they live 
 
 To ftand by liege and land : 
 Hie was their fame, hie was their micht, 
 
 And hie was their command. 
 
 Great luve they bare to FAIRLY fair, 
 
 Their fifter faft and deir; 
 Her girdle fhawd her middle gimp, 
 
 And gowden glifl her hair. 
 Quhat waefou wae her bewtie bred, 
 
 Waefou to zung and auld, 
 Waefou I trow to kyth and kin, 
 
 As ftory ever tauld ! 
 
 The King of Norfe in fummer tyde, 
 
 Puft up with powir and micht, 
 Landed in fair Scotland the yle, 
 
 With mony a hardy knicht. 
 The tydings to our gude Scots king 
 
 Came, as he fat at dyne, 
 With noble chiefs in braif aray, 
 
 Drinking the blude-reid wyne.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 121 
 
 " To horfe, to horfe, my royal Liege, 
 
 Zours faes (land on the flrand, 
 Full twenty thoufand glittering fpears 
 
 The King of Norfe commands." 
 " Bring me my fleed Mage dapple gray," 
 
 Our gude King raife and cryd, 
 " A truflier beaft in all the land 
 
 A Scots king nevir feyd. 
 
 Go, little page, tell HARDYKNUTE, 
 
 That lives on hill fae hie, 
 To draw his fword, the dreid of faes, 
 
 And haft and follow me." 
 The little page flew fwift as dart 
 
 Flung by his mafters arm : 
 " Cum down, cum down, Lord HARDYKNUTE, 
 
 And rid zour King frae harm." 
 
 Then reid reid grew his dark-brown cheiks, 
 
 Sae did his dark-brown brow ; 
 His luiks grew kene, as they were wont, 
 
 In dangers great, to do : 
 He hes tane a horn as grene as glafs, 
 
 And gien five founds fae fhrill, 
 That treis in grene wod fchuke thereat, 
 
 Sae loud rang ilka hill. 
 
 His fons in manly fport and glie 
 
 Had paft that fummers morn, 
 Quhen low down in a graffy dale 
 
 They heard their fatheris horn : 
 That horn, quod they, neir founds in peace, 
 
 We haif other fport to byde. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 122 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 And fune they hey'd them up the hill, 
 And fune were at his fide. 
 
 " Late late zeflrene I weind in peace 
 
 To end my lengthned life, 
 My age micht weil excufe my arm 
 
 Frae manly feats of ftryfe ; 
 But now that NORSE dois proudly boaft 
 
 Fair Scotland to inthrall, 
 Its neir be faid ofHARDYKNUTE, 
 
 He feard to ficht or fall. 
 
 " R o B i N of Rothfay, bend thy bow, 
 
 Thy arrows fchute fae leil, 
 Mony a comely countenance 
 
 They haif turnd to deidly pale. 
 Brade THOMAS, tak ze but zour lance, 
 
 Ze neid nae weapons mair, 
 Gif ze ficht weit as ze did anes 
 
 Gainft WESTMORLAND'S ferfs heir. 
 
 " M A L c o M , licht of fute as flag 
 
 That runs in foreft wyld, 
 Get me my thoufands thrie of men, 
 
 Well bred to fword and fchield ; 
 Bring me my horfe and harnifme, 
 
 My blade of mettal cleir. 
 If faes kend but the hand it bare, 
 
 They fune had fled for feir. 
 
 " Fareweil my dame fae peirlefs gude, 
 
 (And tuke hir by the hand), 
 Fairer to me in age zou feim, 
 
 Than maids for bewtie famd :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 123 
 
 My zoungefl fon fall here remain 
 
 To guard thefe ftately towirs, 
 And fchut the filver bolt that keips 
 
 Sae faft zour painted bowirs." 
 
 And firfl fcho wet hir comely cheiks, 
 
 And then her bodice grene, 
 Hir filken cords of twirtle twift, 
 
 Weil plait with filver fchene ; 
 And apron fet with mony a dice 
 
 Of neidle-wark fae rair, 
 Wove by nae hand, as ze may guefs, 
 
 Saif that of F A I R L Y fair. 
 
 And he has ridden owre muir and mofs, 
 
 Owre hills and mony a glen, 
 Quhen he came to a wounded knicht, 
 
 Making a heavy mane ; 
 " Here maun I lye, here maun I dye, 
 
 By treacheries falfe gyles ; 
 Witlefs I was that eir gaif faith 
 
 To wicked womans fmyles." 
 
 " Sir Knicht, gin ze were in my bowir, 
 
 To lean on filken feat, 
 My ladyis kyndlie care zoud prove, 
 
 Quha neir kend deidly hate : 
 Hirfelf wald watch ze all the day, 
 
 Hir maids at deid of nicht ; 
 And FAIRLY fair zour heart wald cheir, 
 
 As fcho ftands in zour ficht 
 
 " Aryfe, young knicht, and mount zour fteid, 
 Full lowns the fhynand day : 
 L 2
 
 124 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Cheis frae my menzie quhom ze pleis 
 
 To leid ze on the way." 
 With fmylefs luke, and vifage wan, 
 
 The wounded knicht replyd, 
 " Kynd chiftain, zour intent purfue, 
 
 For heir I maun abyde. 
 
 To me nae after day nor nicht 
 
 Can eir be fweit or fair, 
 But fune beneath fum draping tree 
 
 Cauld death fall end my care." 
 With him nae pleiding micht prevail ; 
 
 Brave HARDYKNUTEinto gain, 
 With faireft words, and reafon ftrong, 
 
 Straif courteoufly in vain. 
 
 Syne he has gane far hynd attowre 
 
 Lord CHATTANS land fae wyde ; 
 That Lord a worthy wicht was ay, 
 
 Quhen faes his courage feyd : 
 Of Piclifh race by mothers fyde, 
 
 Quhen Picls ruld Caledon, 
 Lord C H A T T A N claimd the princely maid, 
 
 Quhen he faift Pictifh crown. 
 
 Now with his ferfs and ftalwart train, 
 
 He reicht a ryfing heicht, 
 Quhair braid encampit on the dale, 
 
 NORSE menzie lay in ficht. 
 " Zonder, my valiant fons and ferfs, 
 
 Our raging revers wait, 
 On the unconquerit Scottifh fwaird, 
 
 To try with us their fate.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 125 
 
 Mak orifons to Him that faift 
 
 Our fauls upon the roode ; 
 Syne braifly fchaw zour veins ar filld 
 
 With Caledonian blude." 
 Then furth he drew his trufly glaive, 
 
 Quhile thoufands all around, 
 Drawn frae their fheaths glanfl in the fun, 
 
 And loud the bougills found. 
 
 To join his King, adown the hill, 
 
 In haft his merch he made, 
 Quhile, playand pibrochs, minftrails meit 
 
 Afore him ftately ftrade. 
 " Thryfe welcum, valziant floup of weir, 
 
 Thy nations fcheild and pryde; 
 Thy King nae reafon has to feir 
 
 Quhen thou art be his fyde." 
 
 Quhen bows were bent and darts were thrawn, 
 
 For thrang fcarce could he flie, 
 The darts clove arrows as they met, 
 
 The arrows dart the trie. 
 Lang did they rage and ficht full ferfs, 
 
 With little fkaith to man, 
 But bludy bludy was the field, 
 
 Or that lang day was done. 
 
 The King of Scots that fmclle bruikd 
 
 The war that luikt like play, 
 Drew his braid fvvord, and brake his bow, 
 
 Sen bows feimt but delay. 
 Quoth noble ROTHSAY, " Myne I'll keip, 
 
 I wate its bleid a fkore."
 
 126 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 " Haft up, my merry men," cryd the King, 
 As he rade on before. 
 
 The King of Norfe he focht to find, 
 
 With him to menfe the faucht, 
 But on his forehead there did licht 
 
 A fharp unfonfie fhaft; 
 As he his hand put up to find 
 
 The wound, an arrow kene, 
 O waefou chance ! there pinnd his hand 
 
 In midft between his ene. 
 
 " Revenge, revenge !" cryd ROTHSAYS heir, 
 
 " Your mail-coat fall nocht byde 
 The ftrength and fharpnefs of my dart:" 
 
 Then fent it throuch his fyde. 
 Another arrow weil he markt, 
 
 It perfit his neck in twa, 
 His hands then quhat the filver reins, 
 
 He law as card did fa. 
 
 " Sair bleids my Liege, fair fair he bleicls!" 
 
 Again with micht he drew, 
 And gefture dreid, his flurdy bow, 
 
 Faft the braid arrow flew: 
 Wae to the knicht he ettled at, 
 
 Lament now, Queen E L D R E I D , 
 Hie dames to wail zour darlings fall, 
 
 His zouth and comely meid. 
 
 " Tak aff, tak aff his coflly jupe, 
 
 (Of gold weil was it twynd, 
 Knit lyke the fowlers net, throuch quhilk 
 
 His fteily harnefs fhynd), 
 Tak, NORSE, that gift frae me, and bid 
 
 Him venge the blude it beirs:
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 127 
 
 Sae, if he face my bended bow, 
 He fure nae weapon feirs." 
 
 Proud NORSE with giant body tall, 
 
 Braid moulders and arms ftrong, 
 Cry'd, " Quhair is HARDYKNUTEfae fam'd, 
 
 And feird at Britains throne? 
 Tho Britons tremble at his name, 
 
 I fune fall make him wail, 
 That eir my fword was made fae fharp, 
 
 Sae faft his coat of mail." 
 
 That brag his ftout heart coud na byde, 
 
 It lent him zouthfou micht ; 
 " I'm HARDYKNUTE this day, he cry'd, 
 
 To Scotlands king I hecht 
 To lay thee law, as horfes hufe, 
 
 My word I mean to keep." 
 Syne with the firft ftrake eir he flrake, 
 
 He garrd his body bleid. 
 
 NORSE ene like gray gofehawke flaird wyld, 
 
 He ficht with fhame and fpyte; 
 " Difgrac'd is now my far-fam'd arm, 
 
 That left thee power to ftryke : " 
 Then gaif his head a blaw fae fell, 
 
 It made him down to ftoup, 
 As law as he to ladies ufit 
 
 In courtly guife to lout 
 
 Full foon he rais'd his bent body, 
 
 His bow he marvelld fair, 
 Sen blaws till then on him but darr'd 
 
 As touch of F A i R L Y fair :
 
 128 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 NORSE ferlit too as fair as he, 
 
 To fe his flately hike; 
 Sae fune as eir he flrake a fae, 
 
 Sae fune his lyfe he tuke. 
 
 Quhair, like a fyre to hether fet, 
 
 Bauld THOMAS did advance, 
 A fturdy fae, with luke enrag'd, 
 
 Up towards him did prance; 
 He fpurd his fteid throw thickeft ranks, 
 
 The hardy zouth to quell, 
 Quha ftude unmovit at his approach, 
 
 His furie to repell. 
 
 " That fchort brown fhaft fae meanly trim'd, 
 
 Lukis lyke poor Scotlands gier ; 
 But driedfull feims the rufty point!" 
 
 And loud he leuch in jeir. 
 " Aft Britons blude has dim'd its fchyne; 
 
 This poynt cut fchort their vaunt:" 
 Syne piercd the boifters bairded chiek, 
 
 Nae tyme he tuke to taunt. 
 
 Schort quhyle he in his faddill fwang, 
 
 His ftirrup was nae flay, 
 Sae feible hang his unbent knee, 
 
 Sure taken he was fey : 
 Swith on the hardened clay he fell, 
 
 Richt far was heard the thud ; 
 But T H o M A s lukit not as he lay 
 
 All waltering in his blude. 
 
 With cairles gefture, mind unmovit, 
 On raid he north the plain:
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 129 
 
 His feim in thrang of fierceft ftryfe, 
 
 Quhen winter ay the fame ; 
 Nor zit his heart dames dimplet chiek 
 
 Could meife faft luve to bruik, 
 Till vengeful ANN returnd his fcorn, 
 
 Then languid grew his luke. 
 
 Now darts flew wavering through flaw fpeid, 
 
 Scarce could they reach their aim ; 
 Or reach 'd, fcarce blood the round point drew, 
 
 ' Twas all butJJiot in vain : 
 Right flrengthly arms forfeebled grew, 
 
 Sair wrccKd wi' that day's toils ; 
 En fierce-born minds now lang 1 d for peace, 
 
 And cursed Wars cruel broils. 
 
 Yet flill Wars horns founded to charge, 
 
 Swords claJKd and harnefs rang ; 
 Butfaftlyfae ilk blafler blew 
 
 The hills and dales fracmang, 
 Nae echo heard in double dints, 
 
 Nor the lang winding-horn, 
 Nae moir flie bleiv out brade as fhe 
 
 Did eir that f urn mers morn. 
 
 In thrawis of death with wallowit cheik, 
 
 All panting on the plain, 
 The fainting corps of warriors lay, 
 
 Neir to aiyfe again ; 
 Neir to return to native land, 
 
 Nae mair with blythfom founds 
 To boift the glories of the day, 
 
 And fchaw thair fhyning wounds. 
 (9)
 
 130 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 On Norways coaft the widowit dame 
 
 May wafli the rocks with teirs, 
 May lang luke owre the fchiples feis 
 
 Befoir hir mate appeirs. 
 Ceife, EMMA, ceife to hope in vain ; 
 
 Thy Lord lyis in the clay ; 
 The valziant Scots nae revers thole 
 
 To carry lyfe away. 
 
 There on a lee, quhair flands a crofs 
 
 Set up for monument, 
 Thoufands full ferfs that fummers day 
 
 Filld kene Waris black intent. 
 Let Scots, quhile Scots, praife HARDYKNUTE, 
 
 Let NORSE, the name ay dried : 
 Ay how he faucht, aft how he fpaird, 
 
 Sal lateft ages reid. 
 
 Loud and chill blew the wefllin wind, 
 
 Sair beat the heavy fhowir, 
 Mirk grew the nicht eir HARDYKNUTE 
 
 Wan neir his {lately towir. 
 His towir that ufd with torches bleife 
 
 To fhyne fae far at nicht, 
 Seemd now as black as mourning weid, 
 
 Nae marvel fair he fichcl. 
 
 " Thairs nae licht in my ladys bowir, 
 
 Thairs nae licht in my hall ; 
 Nae blink fchynes round my FAIRLY fair, 
 
 Nor ward flands on my wall. 
 Quhat bodes it ? ROBE R x T n o M A s , fay ?"- 
 
 Nae anfwer fits their dried. 
 " Stand back, my fons, I'll be zour gyde :" 
 
 But by they pafl with fpeid.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 131 
 
 " As fafl I half fped owre Scotlands faes," 
 
 Thair ceifl his brag of weir, 
 Sair fchamit to mynd ought but his dame, 
 
 And maiden FAIRLY fair. 
 Black feir he felt, but quhat to feir 
 
 He wift not zit with dried : 
 Sair fchuke his body, fair his limbs, 
 
 And all the warriour fled. 
 
 D UNC AN. 
 
 C A W ye the thane o' meikle pride, 
 
 Red anger in his ee? 
 I faw him not, nor care, he cry'd, 
 Red anger frights na me. 
 
 For I have ftude whar honour bad, 
 Though death trod on his heel; 
 
 Mean is the crefl that ftoops to fear, 
 Nae fie may DUNCAN feel. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! or was it but the wind, 
 That through the ha' did fmg; 
 
 Hark ! hark ! agen, a warlike found, 
 The black woods round do ring. 
 
 Tis na for naught, bauld DUNCAN cry'd, 
 
 Sic fhoutings on the wind. 
 Syne up he flarted frae his feat, 
 
 A thrang of fpears behind.
 
 132 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Hafte, hade, my valiant hearts, he faid, 
 
 Anes mair to follow me; 
 We'll meet yon fhouters by the burn, 
 
 I guefs wha they may be. 
 
 But wha is he that fpeids fae fail, 
 Frae the flaw marching thrang? 
 
 Sae frae the mirk cloud fhoots a beam, 
 The fky's blue face alang. 
 
 Some meffenger it is, mayhap, 
 
 Then not at peace I trow. 
 My mafter, DUNCAN bade me rin, 
 
 And fay thefe words to you : 
 
 Reflore again that blooming rofe, 
 Your rude hand pluckt awa'; 
 
 Reftore again his MARY fair, 
 Or you fhall rue his fa'. 
 
 Three ftrides the gallant DUNCAN tuik, 
 
 He ftruck his forward fpear: 
 Gae tell thy matter, beardlefs youth, 
 
 We are nae wont to fear. 
 
 He comes na on a waffail rout, 
 
 Of revel, fport, and play ; 
 Our fwords gart Fame proclaim us men, 
 
 Lang ere this ruefu' day. 
 
 The rofe I pluckt o' right is mine, 
 
 Our hearts together grew, 
 Like twa fvveet rofes on ae flak, 
 
 Frae hate to love flie flew.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 133 
 
 Swift as a winged maft he fped ; 
 
 Bald DUNCAN faid in jeer, 
 Gae tell thy matter, beardlefs youth, 
 
 We are nae wont to fear. 
 
 He comes na on a waffail rout, 
 
 Of revels, fport, and play ; 
 Our fwords gart Fame proclaim us men, 
 
 Lang ere this ruefu' day. 
 
 The rofe I pluckt o' right is mine, 
 
 Our hearts together grew; 
 Like twa fweet rofes on ae flak, 
 
 Frae hate to love they flew. 
 
 He ftampt his foot upo' the ground, 
 
 And thus in wrath did fay, 
 God flrike my faul, if frae this field, 
 
 We baith in life mail gae! 
 
 He wav'd his hand : the pipers play'd, 
 
 The targets clattered round ; 
 And now between the meeting faes 
 
 Was little fpace of ground. 
 
 But wha is me that rins fae fad? 
 
 Her feet nae flap they find ; 
 Sae fwiftly rides the milky cloud, 
 
 Upo' the fimmers wind. 
 
 Her face a mantle fcreen'd afore, 
 
 She fhow'd of lilly hue; 
 Sae frae the grey mitt breaks the fun, 
 
 To drink the morning dew. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 134 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Alack! my friends, what fight is this? 
 
 O, flap your rage ! fhe cry'd, 
 Whar love with honey'd lips fhould be, 
 
 Mak not a breach fo wide. 
 
 Can then my uncle draw his fword, 
 
 My hufband's bread to bleed? 
 Or can my fweet Lord do to him 
 
 Sic foul and ruthlefs deed? 
 
 Bethink you, uncle, of the time, 
 
 My gray-hair'd father died, 
 Frae whar your mrill horn fhuck the wood, 
 
 He fent for you with fpeed. 
 
 My brother, guard my bairn, he faid, 
 
 She'll hae nae father foon, 
 Regard her, DONALD, as your ain, 
 
 I'll afk nae uther boon. 
 
 Would then my uncle force my love, 
 
 Whar love it coudna be? 
 Or wed me to the man I hate? 
 
 Was this his care of me? 
 
 Can thefe brave men, who but of late, 
 
 Together chas'd the deer, 
 Againfl their comrades bend their bows, 
 
 In bluidy hunting here? 
 
 She fpake, while trickling ran the tear 
 
 Her blufhing cheek alang; 
 And filence, like a heavy cloud, 
 
 O'er a' the warriors hang. 
 
 Syne ftapt the red-hair'd MALCOLM furth, 
 Three-fcore his years and three;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 135 
 
 Yet a' the ftrength of flrongeft youth, 
 In fie an eild had he. 
 
 Nae pity was there in his breafl, 
 
 For war alane he loo'd ; 
 His grey een fparkled at the fight 
 
 Of plunder, death, and bluid. 
 
 What ! fhall our hearts of fteel, he faid, 
 
 Bend to a woman's fang ? 
 Or can her words our honour quit, 
 
 For fie difhoneft wrang ? 
 
 For this did a' thefe warriors come, 
 
 To hear an idle tale ? 
 And o'er our death-accuftomed arms, 
 
 Shall filly tears prevail ? 
 
 They gied a fhout, their bows they tuik, 
 
 They clafh'd their fteely fwords ; 
 Like the loud waves of Barra's more, 
 
 There was nae room for words. 
 
 A cry the weeping MARY gied, 
 
 O uncle hear my prayer ; 
 Heidna that man of bluidy look. 
 
 She had na time for mair. 
 
 For in the midft anon there came, 
 
 A blind unweeting dart, 
 That glanc'd frae aff her DUNCAN'S targe, 
 
 And ftrack her to the heart. 
 
 Awhile me ftagger'd, fyne me fell, 
 And DUNCAN fee'd her fa' ; 
 
 M 2
 
 136 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Aflound he flood, for in his limbs 
 There was nae power at a'. 
 
 The fpear he meant at faes to fling, 
 
 Stood fix'd within his hand ; 
 His lips half open, cou'dna fpeak, 
 
 His life was at a (land. 
 
 Sae the black flump of fome auld aik, 
 
 With arms in triumph dight, 
 Seems to the traveller like a man, 
 
 KENNETH. 
 
 T WEIRD, I weird, hard-hearted lord, 
 
 Thy fa' fhall foon be feen ; 
 Proud was the lilly of the morn, 
 The cald frofl nipt or een : 
 
 Thou leughfl in fcorn when puir men weep'd, 
 
 And flrack the lowly down ; 
 Sae fall nae widow weep for thine, 
 
 When a' their joys are flown. 
 
 This night ye drink the fparkly wine ; 
 
 I redd you drink your fill ; 
 The morrow's fun fhall drink your bluid, 
 
 Afore he reach the hill. 
 
 I fee the fnaw-maned horfes ride, 
 Their glitt'ring fvvords they draw ; 
 
 Their fwords that fhall nae glitter lang, 
 Till KENN ETII'S pride fhall fa.'
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 137 
 
 The black Dog youl'd ; he faw the fight 
 
 Nae man but I could fee : 
 * High on fair MARG'RET'S bread her fheet, 
 
 And deadly fix'd her ee : 
 
 Sae fpake the feer; wild in his een 
 
 His frighted fpirit gaz'd : 
 Pale were his cheeks, and fliff his hair 
 
 Like boary bridles rais'd. 
 
 Loud, loud in KENNETH'S lighted ha', 
 
 The fang of joy was heard; 
 And mony a cup they fill'd again, 
 
 Afore the light appear'd. 
 
 " War my fon WILLIAM now but here, 
 
 He wad na fail the pledge "- 
 Wi' that in at the door there ran 
 
 A ghoufly-looking page. 
 
 " I faw them, Mailer, O! I faw, 
 
 Beneath the thorn ey brae, 
 Of black-mail'd warriors mony a rank ; 
 
 Revenge ! he cried, and gae." 
 
 The youth that bare Lord KENNETH'S cup, 
 
 The faft fmile on his cheek, 
 Frae his white hand let fa' the drink, 
 
 Nor did the balded fpeak. 
 
 * To perfons unacquainted with the fuperftition of the high- 
 lands, this may not be eafily intelligible. There the feer is 
 fuppos'd to behold the figure of the perfon about to die, clothed 
 in their \vinding-lhcet; and the higher it is on their bodies, the 
 nearer their approaching diffolution. 
 M 3
 
 138 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Sae have I feen the gray-wing'd fhaft 
 
 That ftrak the nobleft deer; 
 Aftounded gaz'd the trembling herd, 
 
 Nor could they flee for fear. 
 
 " Ride, ride, and bid Lord WILLIAM come ; 
 
 His fathers fair befet." 
 
 " It was Lord WILLIAMS horfe that neigh'd; 
 
 I heard them bar the yate." 
 
 " Welcome, my valiant fon," he faid; 
 
 Or fhould I welcome fay, 
 In fie an ill hour, when you come 
 
 To meet thy father's fae?" 
 
 " Curs'd be that thought," bald WILLIAM faid; 
 
 " My father's faes are mine; 
 Lang has my bread frae KENNETH learn'd 
 
 Sic baby fear to tine." 
 
 " O W i L L i A M ! had we kent yeftreen." 
 
 " Father, we ken it now; 
 Let women tell what women wifh." - 
 
 Syne three fhrill blafts he blew. 
 
 Fair M A R G'R E T lay on downy bed ; 
 
 Yet was na found her reft ; 
 She waken'd wi' Lord WILLIAM'S horn, 
 
 And down me came in hafte. 
 
 " What mean you, KENNETH, by that blaft? 
 
 I wifh my dreams bode guid ; 
 Upon a bed of lillies fair 
 
 I thought there rain'd red bluid.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 139 
 
 My fon ! my fon ! may peace be there 
 
 Whar noble WILLIAM ftands."- 
 
 " We are the lillies," anfwer'd he, 
 
 May their bluid weit our hands." 
 
 " What means my W i L L i A M by fie words? 
 
 Whafe bluid would WILLIAM fpill? 
 I thought that horn had blawn in peace, 
 
 That wak'd the night fae ftill." 
 
 She luik'd; but nane durfl anfwer make, 
 
 Till gallant WILLIAM faid, 
 " Aft has my mother bade us joy, 
 
 When we to battail gade. 
 
 Again thy hands may work the plaid 
 
 For him that fought the beft ; 
 Again may I hing up my targe 
 
 Upon the pin to reft. 
 
 But WILLIAM never Hv'd to flee ; 
 
 Nor did his mother hear 
 A warrior cry on W i L L I A M s name, 
 
 That was na found for fear. 
 
 And if we fa', my gallant friends, 
 
 We mall na fa' alane; 
 Some honeft hand mall write our deeds 
 
 Upon the tailed ftane." 
 
 " Hafte, KENNETH, hafte; for in the field 
 
 The fire-ey'd WALTER rides ; 
 His men, that come fae thrang wi' hafte, 
 
 For flaw delay he chides." 
 
 " By Mary, we will meet him there," 
 The angry WILLIAM cry'd ;
 
 140 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Thy fon will try this Lion-fae, 
 And you with MARGARET bide." 
 
 " No, on my faith, the fword of youth 
 
 Thy father yet can wield ; 
 If that I fhrink frae feirceft faes, 
 
 May babies mock my eild." 
 
 Then forth they rufh'd, afore the yate 
 
 The warriours fallied out : 
 Lord WILLIAM fmil'd upon their ranks ; 
 
 They anfvver'd wi' a fhout. 
 
 " Gae rin, and fay to W A L T E R thus : 
 
 What feek thae warriours here? 
 Or why the din of fiery war 
 
 Aftounds the peaceful ear?" 
 
 Swift ran the page. " Thus KENNETH fays, 
 
 What feik thae warriours here? 
 Or why the din of fiery war 
 
 Aftounds the peaceful ear?" 
 
 " Gae tell thy mafter, frae this arm 
 
 Mine anfwer will I gi'e; 
 Remind him of his tyrant deeds, 
 
 And bid him anfwer me. 
 
 Wha was't that flew my father dear? 
 
 That bar'd my caftle wa'? 
 Wha was't that bade wild ruin bruid 
 
 Whar pipes did glad the ha'?" 
 
 Nor halfway had the meffage fped, 
 When their tough bows they drew ; 
 
 But far attour the warriors heads 
 The fhafts for anger flew.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 141 
 
 " Sae ever finite Lord KENNETH'S faes," 
 
 The Valiant WILLIAM faid ; 
 Wi' this T war nae wi' the wind." 
 
 And drew his glittering blade. 
 
 Below the arrows' arch they rufh'd 
 
 Wi' mony a fhout, fae fafl : 
 Beneath the rainbow the big clouds 
 
 Sae drives the roaring blaft. 
 
 Bald WALTER fprang frae aff his fteid, 
 
 And drave him o'er the lee ; 
 " Curs'd be the name of that bafe cow'rd 
 
 That could but think to flee." 
 
 Firmly he fet his manly foot, 
 
 And firm his targe he bare ; 
 Never may WALTER greet his friends, 
 
 If K E N N E T H ' s fee him mair. 
 
 Multa defunt. 
 Fair M A R G A R E T wi' her maidens fat 
 
 Within the painted wa' ; 
 She flarted at ilk breath of wind 
 
 That whifiled through the ha'. 
 
 " Wha was't that gi'd yon cry below? 
 
 Say, page, does ill betide?" 
 KENNETH and W i L L i A M baith are flain ; 
 
 Mak hafte, male hafte and ride." 
 
 Her maidens fcriech'd : but any fpeech, 
 
 Nor wail of wae, had flie ; 
 She bow'd her head, and fair fhe figh'cl, 
 
 And cald Death clos'd her ee.
 
 142 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Frennet Hall. Part ift. 
 
 HEN Frennett cattle's ivied wall 
 
 Thro' yallow leaves were feen; 
 When birds forfook the faplefs boughs, 
 And bees the faded green; 
 
 Then Lady FRENNET, vengeful dame, 
 
 Did wander frae the ha', 
 To the wild forefl's dewie gloom, 
 
 Among the leaves that fa'. 
 
 Her page, the fwifteft of her train, 
 
 Had dumb a lofty tree, 
 Whafe branches to the angry blaft 
 
 Were foughing mournfullie. 
 
 He turn'd his een towards the path 
 
 That near the caftle lay, 
 Where good lord JOHN and ROTHEMAY 
 
 Were rideing down the brae. 
 
 Swift darts the eagle from the fky, 
 
 When prey beneath is feen : 
 As quickly he forgot his hold, 
 
 And perch'd upon the green. 
 
 O hie thee, hie thee ! lady gay, 
 
 Frae this dark wood awa : 
 Some vifitors of gallant mein 
 
 Are hafling to the ha'. 
 
 Then round fhe rowed her filken plaid, 
 Her feet fhe did na fpare,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 143 
 
 Until me left the foreft fkirts 
 A lang bow-mot and mair. 
 
 O where, O where, my good lord JOHN, 
 
 tell me where you ride? 
 Within my caflle-wall this night 
 
 1 hope you mean to bide. 
 
 Kind nobles, will ye but alight, 
 
 In yonder bower to flay; 
 Saft eafe mall teach you to forget 
 
 The hardnefs of the way. 
 
 Forbear entreaty, gentle dame, 
 
 How can we here remain? 
 Full well you ken your hufband dear 
 
 Was by our father flain. 
 
 The thoughts of which with fell revenge 
 
 Your angry bofom fwell : 
 Enraged you've fworn that blood for blood 
 
 Should this black paffion quell. 
 
 O fear not, fear not, good lord JOHN, 
 
 That I will you betray, 
 Or fue requittal for a debt 
 
 Which nature cannot pay. 
 
 Bear witnefs, a' ye powers on high, 
 
 Ye lights that 'gin to mine, 
 This night mall prove the facred cord 
 
 That knits your faith and mine. 
 
 The lady flee with honeyed words 
 
 Entic'd thir youths to flay : 
 But morning fun nere fhone upon 
 
 Lord JOHN nor R o x H E M A Y.
 
 144 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Tune, Wally wally up the bank. 
 
 p 1 A R L DOUGLAS, than quham nevir knicht 
 
 Had valour more ne courtefie, 
 Zet he's now blamet by a' the land 
 For lightillying o' his gay Lady. 
 
 Go, little page, and tell your lord, 
 Gin he will cum and dyne wi' me, 
 
 I'll fet him on a feat of gold, 
 
 I'll ferve him wi' my bended knee. 
 
 The little page gaid up the flair : 
 
 " Lord DOUGLAS, dyne wi' zour lady : 
 She'll fet you on a feat of gold, 
 
 And ferve ze on her bended knee." 
 
 Quhen cockle-fhells turn filler bells; 
 
 Quhen muffells grow on ilka tree; 
 Quhen froft and fna fall warm us a', 
 
 Then fall I dyne wi' my lady. 
 
 Now wae betide ze, black Faftriefs, 
 Ay and an ill dead mai ze die : 
 
 Ze was the firft and foremofl man 
 Quha parted my true lord and me.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 145 
 
 To the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrov. 
 
 T D R E A M'D a dreary dream laft night; 
 
 God keep us a' frae forrow : 
 I dream'd I pu'd the birk fae green 
 Wi' my true luve on Yarrow. 
 
 I'll read your dream, my fifler dear, 
 
 I'll tell you a' your forrow : 
 You pu'd the birk wi' your true luve; 
 
 He's kiil'd, he's kill'd on Yarrow. 
 
 O gentle wind, that bloweth fouth, 
 
 To where my love repaireth, 
 Convey a kifs from his dear mouth, 
 
 And tell me how he fareth ! 
 
 But o'er yon glen run armed men, 
 Have wrought me dule and forrow : 
 
 They've flain, they've flain the comlieft fwain, 
 He bleeding lies on Yarrow. 
 
 LAMM IK IN. 
 To the Tune of Gil Morrice. 
 
 A BETTER mafon than L A M M i K i N 
 
 Never builded wi' the ftane : 
 Quha builded Lord W E i R E s caftell, 
 Bot wages nevir gat nane. 
 
 * * 
 
 VOL. I. (10) N
 
 146 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 " Sen ze winnae gie me my guerdon, Lord, 
 Sen ze winnae gie me my hyre, 
 
 Yon proud caftle, fae flately built, 
 I fall gar rock wi' the fyre. 
 
 " Sen ze winnae gie me my wages, Lord, 
 
 Ze fall hae caufe to rue." 
 And fyne he brewed a black revenge, 
 
 And fyne he vowed a vow. 
 
 " Now byde at hame, my luve, my life, 
 
 I warde ze byde at hame : 
 O gang nae to this day's hunting, 
 
 To leave me a' my lane ! 
 
 " Zeftreene, zeftreene, I dreamt my bower, 
 
 Of red, red blude was fu'. 
 Gin ye gang to this black hunting, 
 
 I fall hae caufe to rue." 
 
 Quha looks to dreams, my winfome dame? 
 
 Ze hae nae caufe to feare." 
 And fyne he's kifl her comely cheek, 
 
 And fyne the flarting teare. 
 
 And fyne he's gane to the good greene wode, 
 
 And fhe to her painted bowir; 
 And fhe's gard fteek doors, windows, yates, 
 
 Of caftle, ha, and towir. 
 
 They fteeked doors, they fteeked yates, 
 
 Clofe to the cheek and chin : 
 They flecked them a' but a little wicket, 
 
 And L A M M i K i N crap in.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 147 
 
 Now quhere's the Lady of this caftle, 
 
 Nurfe tell to LAMMIKIN? 
 She's fewing up intill her bowir ; 
 
 The fals N o u R i c E fhe fung. 
 
 LAMMIKIN nipped the bonnie babe, 
 
 Quhile loud fals N o u R i c E fmgs : 
 LAMMIKIN nipped the bonnie babe, 
 
 Quhile hich the red blude fprings. 
 
 O gentil N o u R i c E ! pleafe my babe, 
 
 O pleafe him wi' the keys ! 
 It'll no be pleafed, gay lady, 
 
 Gin I'd fit on my knees. 
 
 Gude gentle N o u R i c E , pleafe my babe, 
 
 O pleafe him wi' a knife ! 
 He winnae be pleafed, miftrefs myne, 
 
 Gin I wad lay down my life. 
 
 Sweet N o u R i c E , loud, loud cries my babe, 
 
 O pleafe him wi' the bell ! 
 He winnae be pleafed, gay lady, 
 
 Till ze cum down yourfell. 
 
 And quhen fhe faw the red, red blude, 
 
 A loud fcrich fchriched fhe. 
 O monfter, monfler ! fpare my child, 
 
 Quha nevir fkaithed thee. 
 
 O fpare ! gif in your bludy breaft 
 
 Albergs not heart of ftane ! 
 O fpare ! and ye fall hae of goud 
 
 Quhat ze can carrie hame. 
 
 N 2
 
 148 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Dame, I want not your goud, he faid ; 
 
 Dame, I want not your fee ; 
 I hae been wranged by your Lord, 
 
 Ze fall black vengeance drie. 
 
 Here are nae ferfs to guard your halls, 
 
 Nae trufty fpeirmen here ; 
 They found the horn in gude grene wode, 
 
 And chaffe the doe and deer. 
 
 Tho' merry founds the gude grene wode, 
 Wi' huntfmen, hounds, and horn, 
 
 Zour Lord fall rue, e'er fets yon fun, 
 He has done me fkaith and fcorn. 
 
 CHE has call'd to her her bovver-maidens, 
 
 She has call'd them one by one ; 
 " There is a dead man in my bower, 
 I wifh that he was gone." 
 
 They have booted him, and fpurred him, 
 
 As he was wont to ride : 
 A hunting-horn around his waifl, 
 
 A fharp fword by his fide. 
 
 Then up and fpake a bonny bird, 
 
 That fat upon the tree, 
 " Quhat hae ze done with Earl RICHARD, 
 
 Ze was his gay lady?" 
 
 Cum down, cum down, my bonnie bird, 
 Cum fit upon my hand ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 149 
 
 And ze fall hae a cage o' the goud, 
 Quhere ze hae but the wand." 
 
 " Awa' awa', ze ill woman, 
 
 Nae ill woman for me; 
 Quhat ze hae done to Earl RICHARD, 
 
 Sae wad ye do to me." 
 
 " O there's a bird within your bower, 
 That fmgs fae fad and fweet ; 
 
 O there's a bird intill your bower, 
 Kept me frae my night's fleep." 
 
 And fhe fware by the grafs fae green, 
 
 Sae did fhe by the corn, 
 That fhe had not feen Earl RICHARD 
 
 Syne yefterday at morn. 
 
 The Bonny Lafs of Lochroyan. 
 
 r\ W H A will fhoe thy bonny feet ? 
 
 Or wha will glove thy hand ? 
 Or wha will lace thy middle-jimp, 
 With a lang, lang London whang ? 
 
 And wha will kame thy bonny head 
 
 With a Tabean birben kame ? 
 And wha will be my bairns father, 
 
 Till love GREGORY come hame ? 
 
 N 3
 
 ISO SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Thy father'll fhoe his bonny feet ; 
 
 Thy mother'll glove his hand ; 
 Thy brither will lace his middle jimp 
 
 With a lang lang London whang. 
 
 Myfell will kame his bonny head 
 With a Tabean birben kame ; 
 
 And the Lord will be the bairns father 
 Till GREGORY come hame. 
 
 Then fhe's gart build a bonny fhip, 
 It's a' cover'd o'er with pearl : 
 
 And at every needle-tack was in't 
 There hang a filler-bell. 
 
 And fhe's awa 
 
 To sail upon the fea : 
 She's gane to feek love GREGORY 
 In lands whare'er he be. 
 
 She had na fail'd a league but twa, 
 
 Or fcantly had me three, 
 Till me met with a rude rover 
 
 Was failing on the fea. 
 
 O whether art thou the queen herfell ? 
 
 Or ane o' her Maries three ? 
 Or art thou the Lafs of Lochroyan 
 
 Seeking love GREGORY? 
 
 O I am not the queen herfell, 
 Nor ane of her Maries three ; 
 
 But I am the Lafs of Lochroyan 
 Seeking love GREGORY? 
 
 O fees na thou yon bonny bower, 
 It's a' cover'd o'er with tin :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 151 
 
 When thou haft fail'd it round about, 
 Love GREGORY is within. 
 
 When fhe had fail'd it round about, 
 
 She dried at the pin : 
 O open, open, love GREGORY, 
 
 Open, and let me in ! 
 
 For I am the Lafs of Lochroyan, 
 Banifht frae a' my kin. 
 
 [His mother f peaks to her from the houfe, and Jhe 
 thinks it Aim.] 
 
 If thou be the Lafs of Lochroyan, 
 
 As I know na thou be, 
 Tell me fome of the true takens 
 
 That paft between me and thee. 
 
 Haft thou na mind, love GREGORY, 
 
 As we fat at the wine, 
 We changed the rings aff ithers hands, 
 
 And ay the beft was mine ? 
 
 For mine was o' the gude red gould, 
 
 But thine was o' the tin ; 
 And mine was true and trufty baith, 
 
 But thine was faufe within. 
 
 And haft thou na mind, love GREGORY, 
 
 As we fat on yon hill, 
 Thou twin'd me of my maidenhead 
 
 Right fair againft my will ? 
 
 Now open, open, love GREGORY, 
 
 Open, and let me in ; 
 For the rain rains on my gude deeding, 
 
 And the dew ftands on my chin.
 
 152 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 If thou be the Lafs of Lochroyan, 
 
 As I know na thou be, 
 Tell me fome mair o' the takens 
 
 Pad between me and thee. 
 
 Then me has turn'd her round about, 
 
 Well fince it will be fae, 
 Let never woman who has born a fon 
 
 Hae a heart fae full of wae. 
 
 Take down, take down that mad of gould, 
 
 Set up a maft of tree ; 
 For it difna become a forfaken lady 
 
 To fail fae royallie. 
 
 \The Son f peaks I\ 
 
 I dreamt a dream this night, mother, 
 
 I wifh it may prove true, 
 That the bonny Lafs of Lochroyan 
 
 Was at the yate jufl now. 
 
 Lie flill, lie ftill, my only fon, 
 And found fleep mayft thou get ; 
 
 For it's but an hour or little mair 
 Since me was at the yate. 
 
 Awa, awa, ye wicked woman, 
 And an ill dead may you die ; 
 
 Ye might have either letten her in, 
 Or elfe have wakened me. 
 
 Gar faddle to me the black, he faid, 
 
 Gar faddle to me the brown, 
 Gar faddle to me the fwifteft fteed 
 
 That is in a' the town.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 153 
 
 Now the firft town he came to, 
 
 The bells were ringing there; 
 And the neift town he came to, 
 
 Her corpfe was coming there. 
 
 Set down, fet down that comely corpfe, 
 
 Set down, and let me fee, 
 Gin that be the Lafs of Lochroyan, 
 
 That died for love o' me. 
 
 And he took out his little penknife, 
 
 That hang down by his gare; 
 And he's ripp'd up her winding-fheet, 
 
 A lang claith-yard and mair. 
 
 And firfl he kifl her cherry-cheek, 
 
 And fyne he kifl her chin, 
 And neift he kifl her rofy lips ; 
 
 There was nae breath within. 
 
 And he has ta'en his little penknife, 
 
 With a heart that was fou fair; 
 He has given himfelf a deadly wound, 
 
 And word fpoke never mair. 
 
 The Battle of Otterburn. 
 
 T T fell and about the Lammas time, 
 
 When hufband men do win their hay, 
 Earl DOUGLAS is to the Englifli woods, 
 And a' with him to fetch a prey. 
 
 He has chofen the LINDSAYS light, 
 With them the gallant GORDONS gay,
 
 154 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And the Earl of F Y F E withouten ftrife, 
 And Sir HUGH MONTGOMERY upon a grey. 
 
 They hae taken Northumberland, 
 
 And fae hae they the north-mire, 
 And the Otter-dale they burnt it hale, 
 
 And fet it a' into a fire. 
 
 Out then fpack a bonny boy, 
 
 That ferv'd ane o' Earl DOUGLAS' kin, 
 Methinks I fee an Englifh hoft 
 
 A-coming branken us upon. 
 
 If this be true, my little boy, 
 
 An it be troth that thou tells me, 
 The braweft bower in Otterburn 
 
 This day mail be thy morning fee. 
 
 But if it be falfe, my little boy, 
 
 But and a lie that thou tells me, 
 On the higheft tree that's in Otterburn 
 
 With my awin hands I'll hing thee hie. 
 
 The boy's taen out his little penknife, 
 
 That hanget low down by his gare, 
 And he gae Earl DOUGLAS a deadly wound, 
 
 Alack ! a deep wound and a fare. 
 
 Earl DOUGLAS faid to Sir HUGH MONTGOMERY, 
 Tack thou the vanguard o' the three; 
 
 And bury me at yon braken bum, 
 That Hands upon yon lilly lee. 
 
 Then PERCY and MONTGOMERY met, 
 
 And weel a wat they war na fain ; 
 They fwapped fwords, and they twa fwat, 
 
 And ay the blood ran down between.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 155 
 
 O yield thee, yield thee, P ERC Y, he faid, 
 
 Or elfe I vow I'll lay thee low. 
 Whom to fhall I yield? faid Earl PERCY; 
 
 Now that I fee it maun be fo. 
 
 O yield thee to yon braken bum, 
 That grows upon yon lilly lie. 
 
 I winna yield to a braken bum, 
 
 Nor yet will I unto a brier; 
 But I wad yield to Earl DOUGLAS, 
 
 Or Sir H u G H MONTGOMERY, if he was here. 
 
 As foon as he knew it was MONTGOMERY, 
 He ftuck his fword's point in the ground : 
 
 And Sir H u G H M o N T G o M E RY was a courteous knight, 
 And he quickly brought him by the hand. 
 
 This deed was done at Otterburn, 
 
 About the breaking o' the day. 
 Earl DOUGLAS was buried at the braken bum, 
 
 And PERCY led captive away. 
 
 The Jew's Daughter. 
 
 f 1 1 H E rain runs down thro' Mirry-land toune, 
 
 Sae dois it doune the Pa : 
 Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune, 
 Quhan they play at the ba. 
 
 Then outand cam the Jewis dochter, 
 Said, Will ye cum in and dine !
 
 156 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I winnae cum in, I winnae cum in, 
 Without my play-feres nine. 
 
 Scho pow'd an apple reid and white 
 
 To intice the young thing in : 
 Scho pow'd an apple white and reid, 
 
 And that the fweit bairne did win. 
 
 And fcho has taine out a little pen-knife, 
 
 And low down by her gair, 
 Scho has twin'd the zoung thing of his life ! 
 
 A word he neir fpake mair. 
 
 And outand cam the thick thick bluid, 
 
 And outand cam the thin; 
 And outand cam the bonny herts bluid : 
 
 Thair was nae life left in. 
 
 Scho laid him on a dreffing borde, 
 
 And dreft him like a fwine, 
 And laughing faid, Gae now and pley 
 
 With zour fweet play-feres nine. 
 
 Scho row'd him in a cake of lead, 
 
 Bade him ly ftill and fleip. 
 Scho caft him in a deip draw-well, 
 
 Was fifty fathom deip. 
 
 Quhan bells wer rung, and mafs was fung, 
 
 And every lady went hame : 
 Than ilk lady had her zoung fonne, 
 
 But Lady HELEN had nane. 
 
 Scho row'd hir mantil hir about, 
 
 And fair fair gan me weip : 
 And flie ran into the Jewis caftel, 
 
 Quhan they wer all afleip.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 157 
 
 My bonny Sir HEW, my pretty Sir HEW, 
 
 I pray thee to me fpeik : 
 " O lady rinn to the deip draw-well 
 
 " Gin ze zour fonne wad feik." 
 
 Lady HELEN ran to the deip draw-well, 
 
 And knelt upon her kne : 
 My bonny Sir HEW, an ze be here, 
 
 I pray thee fpeik to me. 
 
 The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 
 
 The well is wondrous deip, 
 A keen pen-knife flicks in my hert, 
 
 A word I downae fpeik. 
 
 Gae hame, gae name, my mother deir, 
 
 Fetch me my winding-meet, 
 And at the back o' Mirry-land toune, 
 
 Its there we twa fall meet. 
 
 There Gowans are gay. 
 
 r T" 1 HERE gowans are gay, my joy, 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 They gar me wake when I fhou'd deep, 
 The firil morning of May. 
 
 About the fields as I did pafs, 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 I chanc'd to meet a proper lafs, 
 
 The firft morning of May. 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 158 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Right bufy was that bonny maid, 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 I halfl her, fyne to her I faid, 
 
 The firfl morning of May : 
 
 miftrefs fair, what do you here? 
 There gowans are gay; 
 
 Gathering the dew, what neid ye fpeir? 
 The firfl morning of May. 
 
 The dew, quoth I, what can that mean? 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 Quoth ihe, To wafh my miftrefs clean, 
 
 The firfl morning of May. 
 
 1 afked farder at hir fyne, 
 There gowans are gay, 
 
 Gif to my will me wad incline? 
 The firft morning of May. 
 
 She faid, her errand was not there, 
 
 Where gowans are gay; 
 Her maidenhood on me to ware, 
 
 The firfl morning of May. 
 
 Then like an arrow frae a bow, 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 She fkift away out o'er the know, 
 
 The firfl morning of May. 
 
 And left me in the garth my lane, 
 
 There gowans are gay; 
 And in my heart a twang of pain, 
 
 The firfl morning of May.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 159 
 
 The little birds they fang full fweet, 
 
 There gowans are gay ; 
 Unto my comfort was right meet, 
 
 The firft morning of May. 
 
 And thereabout I paft my time, 
 
 There gowans are gay ; 
 Until it was the hour of prime, 
 
 The firft morning of May. 
 
 And then returned hame bedeen, 
 
 The gowans are gay; 
 Panfand what maiden that had been, 
 
 The firft morning of May. 
 
 Kertonha' : or, The Fairy Court. 
 
 C H E's prickt herfell and prin'd herfell, 
 
 By the ae light o' the moon, 
 And fhe's awa' to Kertonha', 
 As faft as fhe can gang. 
 
 " What gars ye pu' the rofe, JENNY? 
 
 What gars ye break the tree ? 
 What gars you gang to Kertonha', 
 
 Without the leave of me?" 
 
 " Yes, I will pu' the rofe, THOMAS, 
 
 And I will break the tree ; 
 For Kertonha' fhou'd be my ain, 
 
 Nor afk I leave of thee." 
 
 " Full pleafant is the fairy land, 
 And happy there to dwell ; 
 O 2
 
 160 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 I am a fairy lyth and limb ; 
 Fair maiden, view me well. 
 
 O pleafant is the fairy land ! 
 
 How happy there to dwell ! 
 But ay at every feven years end, 
 
 We're a' dung down to hell. 
 
 The morn is good Hallow-e'en, 
 
 And our court a' will ride ; 
 If ony maiden wins her man, 
 
 Then me may be his bride. 
 
 But firfl ye'll let the black gae by, 
 And then ye'll let the brown : 
 
 Then I'll ride on a milk-white fleed, 
 You'll pu' me to the ground. 
 
 And firfl, I'll grow into your arms, 
 
 An efk, but and an edder ; 
 Had me fail, let me not gang, 
 
 I'll be your bairn's father. 
 
 Next, I'll grow into your arms 
 
 A toad, but and an eel ; 
 Had me fafl, let me not gang, 
 
 If you do love me leel. 
 
 Laft, I'll grow into your arms 
 
 A dove, but and a fwan ; 
 Then, maiden fair, you'll let me go, 
 
 I'll be a perfect man.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 161 
 
 Clerk COLVILL: or, The Mermaid. 
 
 COLVILL and his lufly dame 
 Were walking in the garden green ; 
 The belt around her (lately waift 
 
 Coft Clerk C o L v i L L of pounds fifteen. 
 
 O promife me now, Clerk COLVILL, 
 
 Or it will coft ye muckle ftrife ; 
 Ride never by the wells of Slane, 
 
 If ye wad live and brook your life. 
 
 Now fpeak nae mair, my lufly dame, 
 Now fpeak nae mair of that to me ; 
 
 Did I ne'er fee a fair woman, 
 But I wad fin with her fair body? 
 
 He's ta'en leave o' his gay lady, 
 Nought minding what his lady faid ; 
 
 And he's rode by the wells of Slane, 
 Where warning was a bonny maid. 
 
 " Warn on, warn on, my bonny maid, 
 That warn fae clean your fark of filk ; " 
 
 " And weel fa' you, fair gentleman, 
 Your body's whiter than the milk." 
 
 Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk COLVILL, 
 
 O my head it pains me fair ; 
 " Then take, then take," the maiden faid, 
 
 " And frae my fark you'll cut a gare." 
 
 Then (lie's gi'ed him a little bane-knife, 
 And frae his fark he cut a (hare ; 
 
 She's ty'd it round his whey-white face, 
 But ay his head it aked mair. 
 ('0 3
 
 162 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Then louder cry'd the Clerk C o L v i L L, 
 " O fairer, fairer akes my head;" 
 
 " And fairer, fairer ever will," 
 
 The maiden crys, 'till you be dead." 
 
 Out then he drew his mining blade, 
 Thinking to flick her where (he flood ; 
 
 But me was vanifh'd to a fifh, 
 And fwam far off a fair mermaid. 
 
 O mother, mother, braid my hair ; 
 
 My lufly lady, make my bed, 
 O brother, take my fword and fpear, 
 
 For I have feen the falfe mermaid. 
 
 WILLIE and AN NET. 
 
 T I V'D ance twa luvers in yon dale, 
 
 And they lov'd ither weel, 
 Frae ev'ning late to morning aire 
 Of luving luv'd their fill. 
 
 " Now, WILLIE, gif you luve me weel, 
 
 As fae it feems to me, 
 Gar build, gar build a bonny fchip, 
 
 Gar build it fpeedilie. 
 
 And we will fail the fea fae green, 
 
 Unto fome far countrie, 
 Or we'll fail to fome bonie ifle 
 
 Stands lanely midfl the fea." 
 
 But lang or ere the fchip was built, 
 Or deck'd, or rigged out,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 163 
 
 Came fick a pain in A N N E x's back, 
 That down (he cou'd na lout. 
 
 " Now, WILLIE, gif ye luve me weel, 
 
 As fae it feems to me, 
 O hafte, hafle, bring me to my bow'r, 
 
 And my bow'r maidens three." 
 
 He's taen her in his arms tvva, 
 
 And kifs'd her cheik and chin; 
 He's brocht her to her ain fweet bow'r, 
 
 But nae bow'r-maid was in. 
 
 " Now, leave my bower, WILLIE, (he faid, 
 
 Now leave me to my lane; 
 Was nevir man in a lady's bower 
 
 When flie was travelling." 
 
 He's ilepped three fleps down the (lair, 
 
 Upon the marble (lane : 
 Sae loud's he heard his young fon's greet, 
 
 But and his lady's mane ! 
 
 " Now come, now come, WILLIE, (he faid, 
 
 Tak your young fon frae me, 
 And hie him to your mother's bower 
 
 With fpeed and privacie." 
 
 He's taen his young fon in his arms, 
 
 He's kifs'd him cheik and chin, 
 He's hied him to his mother's bower 
 
 By th' ae light of the moon. 
 
 And with him came the bold Barone, 
 
 And he fpake up wi' pride, 
 " Gar feek, gar feek the bower-maidens, 
 
 Gar bulk, gar bufk the bryde."
 
 1 64 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 " My maidens, eafy with my back, 
 
 And eafy with my fide. 
 O fet my faddle faft, WILLIE, 
 
 I am a tender bryde." 
 
 When me came to the burrow town, 
 They gied her a broach and ring, 
 
 And when me came to * * * * 
 They had a fair wedding. 
 
 up then fpake the Norland Lord, 
 And blinkit wi' his ee, 
 
 " I trow this lady's born a bairn;" 
 Then laucht loud lauchters three. 
 
 And up then fpake the brifk bridegroom, 
 
 And he fpake up wi' pryde, 
 " Gin I mould pawn my wedding-gloves, 
 
 I will dance wi' the bryde." 
 
 " Now had your tongue, my Lord, me faid, 
 Wi' dancing let me be, 
 
 1 am fae thin in flefh and blude, 
 
 Sma' dancing will ferve me." 
 
 But flae's taen W i L L i E be the hand, 
 
 The tear blinded her ee, 
 " But I wad dance wi' my true luve--- 
 
 But burfts my heart in three." 
 
 She's taen her bracelet frae her arm, 
 
 Her garter frae her knee, 
 " Gie that, gie that to my young fon, 
 
 He'll ne'er his mother fee."
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 165 
 
 " Gar deal, gar deal the bread, mother, 
 
 Gar deal, gar deal the vvyne ; 
 This day hath feen my true luve's death, 
 
 This nicht mall witnefs myne." 
 
 The cruel Knight. 
 
 HP H E Knight Hands in the ftable-door, 
 
 As he was for to ryde, 
 When out then came his fair lady, 
 Defiling him to byde. 
 
 " How can I byde, how dare I byde, 
 
 How can I byde with thee ? 
 Have I not kill'd thy ae brother ? 
 
 Thou hadfl nae mair but he." 
 
 " If you have kill'd my ae brother, 
 
 Alas ! and woe is me ! 
 But if I fave your fair body, 
 
 The better you'll like me." 
 
 She's taen him to her fecret bower, 
 
 Pinn'd with a filler-pin, 
 And fhe's up to her higheil tower, 
 
 To watch that none come in. 
 
 She had na well gane up the flair, 
 
 And entered in her tower, 
 When four-and-twenty armed knights 
 
 Came riding to the door. 
 
 " Now, GOD you fave, my fair lady, 
 
 I pray you tell to me, 
 Saw you not a wounded knight 
 
 Come riding by this way ?
 
 i66 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 " Yes; bloody, bloody was his fword, 
 
 And bloody were his hands ; 
 But if the fleed he rides be good, 
 
 He's pafl fair Scotland's flrands. 
 
 Light down, light down, then, Gentlemen, 
 And take fome bread and wine ; 
 
 The better you will him purfue, 
 When you mail lightly dine." 
 
 " We thank you for your bread, Lady, 
 
 We thank you for your wine. 
 I would gie thrice three thoufand pounds 
 
 Your fair body was mine." 
 
 Then fhe's gane to her fecret bower, 
 
 Her hufband dear to meet ; 
 But out he drew his bloody fword, 
 
 And wounded her very deep. 
 
 " What aileth thee now, good my Lord, 
 
 What aileth thee at me ? 
 Have you not got my father's gold, 
 
 But and my mother's fee?" 
 
 " Now live, now live, my fair lady, 
 
 O live but half an hour, 
 There's ne'er a leech in fair Scotland 
 
 But (hall be at thy bower." 
 
 " How can I live, how (hall I live, 
 
 How can I live for thee ? 
 See you not where my red heart's blood 
 
 Runs trickling down my knee !
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 167 
 
 Wha will bake, etc. 
 
 TIT HA will bake my bridal bread, 
 
 And brew my bridal ale ? 
 And wha will welcome my brifk bride 
 That I bring o'er the dale ? 
 
 I will bake your bridal bread, 
 
 And brew your bridal ale, 
 And I will welcome your brifk bride 
 
 That you bring o'er the dale. 
 
 But (he that welcomes my brifk bride 
 
 Maun gang like maiden fair, 
 She maun lace on her robe fae jimp, 
 
 And braid her yellow hair. 
 
 But how can I gang maiden-like, 
 
 When maiden I am nane ? 
 Have I not born feven fons to thee, 
 
 And am with child agen ? 
 
 She's taen her young fon in her arms, 
 
 Another in her hand, 
 And fhe's up to the highefl tower, 
 
 To fee him come to land. 
 
 You're welcome to your houfe, Matter, 
 
 You're welcome to your land, 
 You're welcome with your fair lady, 
 
 That you lead by the hand. 
 
 And ay me ferv'd the lang tables 
 
 With white bread and with wine, 
 And ay me drank the wan water, 
 
 To had her colour fine.
 
 1 68 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Now he's taen down a filk napkin 
 
 Hung on the filver-pin, 
 And ay he wipes the tear trickling 
 
 Adown her cheek and chin. 
 
 I'll wager, I'll wager, etc. 
 
 T'L L wager, I'll wager, I'll wager with you, 
 
 Five hundred merks and ten, 
 That a maid fha'nae go to yon bonny green wood, 
 And a maiden return agen. 
 
 I'll wager, I'll wager, I'll wager with you, 
 
 Five hundred merks and ten, 
 That a maid mall go to yon bonny green wood, 
 
 And a maiden return agen. 
 
 She's pu'd the blooms aff the broom-bum, 
 And ftrew'd them on's white hafs-bane ; 
 
 This is a fign whereby you may know 
 That a maiden was here, but flic's gane. 
 
 O where was you, my good gray deed, 
 That I hae lo'ed fae dear? 
 
 why did you not waken me 
 When my true love was here ? 
 
 1 (lamped with my foot, Matter, 
 And gar'd my bridle ring, 
 
 But you wadnae waken from your fleep, 
 Till your love was patt and gane. 
 
 Now I may fmg as dreary a fang, 
 
 As the bird fung on the brier, 
 For my true love is far remov'd, 
 
 And I'll ne'er fee her mair. 
 
 END OF PART FIRST.
 
 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 SENTIMENTAL 
 
 AND 
 
 LOVE SONGS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 SENTIMENTA L 
 
 AND 
 
 LOVE SONGS. 
 
 An thou wert my ain Thing. 
 
 A N thou wert mine ain thing, 
 
 I would lue thee, I would lue thee; 
 An thou wert mine ain thing, 
 How dearly would I lue thee. 
 
 Of race divine thou needs mud be, 
 Since naething earthly equals thee ; 
 For Heaven's fake, oh ! favour me, 
 Who only live to lue thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 The gods ae thing peculiar have, 
 To ruin nane wham they can fave; 
 O ! for their fake fupport a flave, 
 Who only lives to lue thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 To merit I nae claim can make, 
 But that I lue ; and, for thy fake, 
 
 P 2
 
 172 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 What man can name I'll undertake, 
 So dearly do I lue thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 My paffion, conftant as the fun, 
 Flames ftronger flill, will ne'er have done, 
 Till Fates my thread o' life hae fpun, 
 Which breathing out I'll lue thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 Like bees that fuck the morning-dew 
 Frae flours o' fweetefl fcent and hue, 
 Sae wad I dwell upo' thy mou, 
 And gar the gods envy me. 
 An thoii wert, etc. 
 
 Sae lang's I had the ufe o' light, 
 I'd on thy beauties feafl my fight, 
 Syne in faft whifpers thro' the night, 
 I'd tell how much I loo'd thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 How fair and ruddy is my JEAN! 
 She muves a goddefs o'er the green ! 
 Were I a king, thou fhou'd be queen, 
 Nane but myfell aboon thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 I'd grafp thee to this breaft o' mine, 
 Whilft thou, like ivy, or the vine, 
 Around my ftronger limbs fhou'd twine, 
 Form'd hardy to defend thee. 
 An thou wert, etc.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 173 
 
 Time's on the wing, and will not Hay, 
 In (hming youth let's mak our hay ; 
 Since luve admits of nae delay, 
 O let nae fcorn undo thee. 
 An tJwu wert, etc. 
 
 While Luve does at his altar ftand, 
 Hae there's my heart, gie me thy hand, 
 And with ilk fmile thou malt command 
 The will o' him wha lues thee. 
 An thou wert, etc. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 E R T thou but mine ain thing, 
 I would lue thee, I would lue thee ; 
 
 Wert thou but mine ain thing, 
 
 How dearly would I lue thee ! 
 
 As round the elm th' enamour'd vine 
 
 Delights wi' wanton arms to twine, 
 Sae I'd encircle thee in mine, 
 
 And mow how much I lue thee. 
 Wert thou but, etc. 
 
 This earth my paradife fhou'd be ; 
 I'd grafp a heav'n of joys in thee, 
 For thou art a' thy fex to me, 
 So fondly do I lue thee. 
 Wert thou but, etc. 
 
 Shou'd thunder roar its loud alarms, 
 Amang the clam of hoftile arms, 
 I'd faftly fink amang thy charms, 
 And only live to lue thee. 
 Wert thou but, etc.
 
 J74 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Let Fortune drive me far away, 
 Or make me fa' to foes a prey, 
 My flame for thee fhall ne'er decay, 
 And dying I would lue thee. 
 Wert thou but, etc. 
 
 Tho' I were number'd wi' the dead, 
 My faul mould hover round thy head : 
 I may be turn'd a filent fhade, 
 But never ceafe to lue thee. 
 Wert thou but, etc. 
 
 To the Tune of Apron, Deary. 
 
 "TV/I" Y fheep I neglected, I lost my fheep-hook, 
 
 And all the gay haunts of my youth I forfook, 
 Nae mair for A M v N T A frefh garlands I wove, 
 For ambition, I faid, would foon cure me of love. 
 
 O what had my youth with ambition to do ? 
 
 Why left /AMYNTA? why broke I my vow ? 
 
 O g? me myJJicep, and my JJieep-hook re/lore, 
 
 I'll wander frae love and AMYNTA no more. 
 
 Through regions remote in vain do I rove, 
 And bid the wild ocean fecure me from love ! 
 O fool ! to imagine that ought can fubdue 
 A love fo well founded, a paffion fo true. 
 O what had my youth, etc. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis o'er late at thy fate to repine ; 
 Poor fhepherd, AMYNTA nae mair can be thine : 
 Thy tears are a' fruitlefs, thy wifhes are vain, 
 The moments neglecled return nae again.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 175 
 
 O what had my youth with ambition to do ? 
 Why left /AMYNTA? why broke I my vow 1 
 O g me myJJieep, and my JJieef-hook re/lore, 
 I'll wander frae love and A M Y N x A no more. 
 
 Alloa-Houfe. 
 
 HP H E fpring-time returns, and clothes the green plains, 
 
 And Alloa fhines more chearful and gay; 
 The lark tunes his throat, and the neighbouring fwains 
 
 Sing merrily round me where-ever I flray : 
 But SANDY nae mair returns to my view ; 
 
 Nae fpring-time me chears, nae mufic can charm; 
 He's gane ! and, I fear me, for ever : adieu ! 
 
 Adieu every pleafure this bofom can warm ! 
 
 O Alloa-houfe ! how much art thou chang'd ! 
 
 How filent, how dull to me is each grove ! 
 Alane I here wander where ance we both rang'd, 
 
 Alas ! where to pleafe me my SANDY ance ftrove ! 
 Here, SANDY, I heard the tales that you tauld, 
 
 Here lifl'ned too fond whenever you fung; 
 Am I grown lefs fair then, that you are turn'd cauld? 
 
 Or foolifh, believ'd a falfe, flattering tongue? 
 
 So fpoke the fair maid, when Sorrow's keen pain, 
 
 And Shame, her laft fault'ring accents fuppreft; 
 For Fate, at that moment, brought back her dear fwain, 
 
 Who heard, and, wi' rapture, his NELLY addreft : 
 My NELLY! my fair, I come ; O my luve ! 
 
 Nae power mall thee tear again from my arms, 
 And, NELLY, nae mair thy fond fhepherd reprove, 
 
 Who knows thy fair worth, and adores a' thy charms.
 
 1 76 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 She heard; and new joy fhot thro' her faft frame, 
 
 And will you, my Luve! be true? fhe replied: 
 And live I to meet my fond fhepherd the fame? 
 
 Or dream I that SANDY will make me his bride? 
 O N E L L Y ! I live to find thee ftill kind ; 
 
 Still true to thy fwain, and luvely as true : 
 Then adieu to a' forrow; what foul is fo blind, 
 
 As not to live happy for ever with you? 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 /~\H! how cou'd I venture to luve ane like thee, 
 
 And you not defpife a poor conqueft like me? 
 On lords, thy admirers, cou'd look wi' difttain, 
 And knew I was naething, yet pity'd my pain? 
 You faid, while they teaz'd you with nonfenfe and drefs, 
 When real the paffion, the vanity's lefs; 
 You faw thro' that filence which others defpife, 
 And, while beaux were a-tauking, read luve in my eyes. 
 
 O ! how mall I fauld thee, and kifs a' thy charms, 
 Till fainting wi' pleafure, I die in your arms ; 
 Thro' a' the wild tranfports of ecftafy toft, 
 Till finking together, together we're loft? 
 Oh ! where is the maid that, like thee, ne'er can cloy, 
 Whofe wit does enliven each dull paufe of joy; 
 And when the fhort raptures are all at an end, 
 From beautiful miftrefs turns fenfible friend? 
 
 In vain do I praife thee, or ftrive to reveal, 
 Too nice for expreffion, which only we feel. 
 In a' that you do, in each look and each mein, 
 The graces in waiting adorn you unfeen.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 177 
 
 When I fee you, I luve you; when hearing, adore; 
 I wonder, and think you a woman no more; 
 Till mad wi' admiring, I cannot contain, 
 And kiffing your lips, you turn woman again. 
 
 With thee in my bofom, how can I defpair? 
 I'll gaze on thy beauties, and look awa care : 
 I'll afk thy advice when with troubles opprefl, 
 Which never difpleafes, but always is bed. 
 In all that I write I'll thy judgement enquire; 
 Thy wit mall correct what thy love did infpire : 
 I'll kifs thee, and prefs thee, till youth is all o'er, 
 And then live in friendfhip, when paffion's no more. 
 
 Auld Lang Syne. 
 
 G H O U ' D auld acquaintance be forgot, 
 
 Tho' they return with fears? 
 Thefe are the noble hero's lot, 
 
 Obtain'd in glorious wars : 
 Welcome, my VARO, to my breaft, 
 
 Thy arms about me twine, 
 And mak me ance again as blefl, 
 
 As I was lang fyne. 
 
 Methinks around us on each bough 
 
 A thoufand Cupids play, 
 Whilfl through the groves I wauk with you, 
 
 Each object maks me gay: 
 Since your return, the fun and moon 
 
 With brighter beams do mine, 
 Streams murmur foft notes while they run, 
 
 As they did lang fyne. 
 
 (12)
 
 i;8 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Defpife the court and din o' Hate; 
 
 Let that to their mare fa', 
 Who can efteem fuch flav'ry great, 
 
 While bounded like a ba' : 
 But funk in luve, upo' my arms 
 
 Let your brave head recline ; 
 We'll pleafe ourfels wi' mutual charms, 
 
 As we did lang fyne. 
 
 O'er moor and dale wi' your gay friend 
 
 You may purfue the chace, 
 And, after a blyth bottle, end 
 
 A' cares in my embrace : 
 And in a vacant rainy day, 
 
 You fhall be wholly mine; 
 We'll mak the hours run fmooth away, 
 
 And laugh at lang fyne. 
 
 The hero, pleas'd wi' the fweet air, 
 
 The figns of gen'rous love, 
 Which had been utter'd by the fair, 
 
 Bow'd to the pow'rs above; 
 Next day, wi' glad confent and hafte, 
 
 Th' approach'd the facred fhrine; 
 Where the good prieft the couple blefl, 
 
 And put them out o' pine. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 TT7" HEN floury meadows deck the year, 
 
 And fporting lambkins play, 
 When fpangled fields renew'd appear, 
 And mufic wak'd the day ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 179 
 
 Then did my C H L o E leave her bow'r, 
 
 To hear my am'rous lay, 
 Warm'd by my love, fhe vow'd no power 
 
 Shou'd lead her heart aflray. 
 
 The warbling quires from ev'ry bough 
 
 Surround our couch in thrangs, 
 And a' their tunefu' art beflow, 
 
 To gi' us change o' fangs : 
 Scenes o' delight my foul poffefs'd, 
 
 I blefs'd, then hugg'd my maid ; 
 I robb'd the kiffes frae her bread, 
 
 Sweet as a noon-day's made. 
 
 But joy tranfporting never fails 
 
 To flee awa' as air ; 
 Another fwain wi' her prevails 
 
 To be as faufe as fair. 
 What can my fatal paffion cure ? 
 
 I'll never woo again ; 
 A' her difdain I maun endure, 
 
 Adoring her in vain. 
 
 What pity 'tis to hear the boy 
 
 Thus fighing wi' his pain ! 
 But time and fcorn may gi'e him joy, 
 
 To hear her figh again. 
 Ah ! fickle C H L o E , be advis'd, 
 
 Do not thyfel' beguile ; 
 A faithfu' lover mould be priz'd, 
 
 Then cure him wi' a fmile.
 
 i8o SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Allan Water. 
 
 "\T7 HAT numbers mall the mufe repeat ? 
 
 What verfe be found to praife my ANNIE? 
 On her ten thoufand graces wait, 
 
 Each fwain admires, and owns flic's bonny. 
 Since firft fhe trod the happy plain, 
 
 She fet each youthfu' heart on fire; 
 Each nymph does to her fwain complain, 
 
 That ANNIE kindles new defire. 
 
 This lovely darling, deareft care, 
 
 This new delight, this charming ANNIE, 
 Like fummer's dawn, (he's frefh and fair, 
 
 When FLORA'S fragrant breezes fan ye. 
 A' day the am'rous youths conveen, 
 
 Joyous they fport and play before her; 
 A' night, when fhe nae mair is feen, 
 
 In blifsful dreams they ftill adore her. 
 
 Amang the crowd A M Y N x o R came, 
 
 He look'd, he luv'd, he bow'd to A N N i E, 
 His rifmg fighs exprefs his flame, 
 
 His words were few, his wifties many. 
 Wi' fmiles the luvely maid reply'd, 
 
 Kind Shepherd, Why fhou'd I deceive ye? 
 Alas ! your love maun be deny'd, 
 
 This deftin'd breafl can ne'er relieve ye. 
 
 Young DAMON came, with CUPID'S art, 
 His wiles, his fmiles, his charms beguiling. 
 
 He ftaw awa' my virgin heart; 
 
 Ceafe, poor A M i N T o R , ceafe bewailing.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 181 
 
 Some brighter beauty you may find, 
 On yonder plain the nymphs are many; 
 
 Then chufe fome heart that's unconfin'd, 
 And leave to D A M o N his own ANNIE. 
 
 Broom of Cowdenknows. 
 
 TJ" O W blythe, ilk morn, was I to fee 
 
 My fwain come o'er the hill ! 
 He fkipt the burn, and flew to me; 
 I met him wi' good will. 
 
 the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 
 The broom d Cowdenknows; 
 
 1 wi/h I were wi my dear fwain, 
 
 Wi his pipe and my ewes. 
 
 I neither wanted ew nor lamb, 
 
 While his flock near me lay; 
 He gathered in my fheep at night, 
 
 And chear'd me a' the day. 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 He tun'd his pipe and reed fae fweet, 
 
 The birds flood lifl'ning by ; 
 Ev'n the dull cattle flood and gaz'd, 
 
 Charm'd wi' his melody. 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 While thus we fpent our time, by turns 
 
 Betwixt our flocks and play, 
 I envy'd not the fairefl dame, 
 
 Tho' ne'er fo rich and gay. 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 182 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Hard fate ! that I fliou'd banifh'd be, 
 
 Gang heavily and mourn, 
 Becaufe I lov'd the kindeft fwain 
 
 That ever yet was born ! 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 He did oblige me ev'ry hour; 
 
 Cou'd I but faithfu' be? 
 He flaw my heart ; cou'd I refufe 
 
 Whate'er he afk'd of me? 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 My doggie, and my little kit, 
 
 That held my wee foup whey, 
 My plaidy, broach, and crooked flick, 
 
 May now ly ufelefs by. 
 O the broom, &c. 
 
 Adieu, ye Cowdenknows, adieu, 
 
 Farewel a' pleafures there; 
 Ye gods, reftore me to my fwain, 
 
 Is a' I crave, or care. 
 
 the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 
 The broom of Cowdenknows; 
 
 1 wijfi I were with my dear fwain, 
 
 With his pipe and my ewes. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 "fT7 HEN fummer comes, the fwains on Tweed 
 
 Sing their fuccefsful loves, 
 Around the ewes and lambkins feed, 
 And mufic fills the groves.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 183 
 
 But my lov'd fong is then the broom 
 
 So fair on Cowdenknows; 
 For fure fo fweet, fo foft a bloom 
 
 Elfewhere there never grows. 
 
 There COLIN tun'd his oaken reed, 
 
 And won my yielding heart ; 
 No fhepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed 
 
 Cou'd play with half fuch art. 
 
 He fung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde, 
 
 The hills and dales all round, 
 Of Leaderhaughs and Leaderfide, 
 
 Oh ! how I blefs'd the found. 
 
 Yet more delightful is the broom 
 
 So fair on Cowdenknows ; 
 For fure fo frefh, fo bright a bloom 
 
 Elfewhere there never grows. 
 
 Not Tiviot braes fo green and gay 
 
 May with this broom compare, 
 Nor Yarrow banks in flow'ry May, 
 
 Nor the bum aboon Traquair. 
 
 More pleafmg far are Cowdenknows, 
 
 My peaceful happy home, 
 Where I was wont to milk my ewes 
 
 At ev'n among the broom. 
 
 Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains 
 
 Where Tweed with Tiviot flows, 
 Convey me to the beft of fvvains, 
 
 And my lov'd Cowdenknows. 
 Q 2
 
 1 84 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Bonny JEAN. 
 
 T O V E's goddefs, in a myrtle grove, 
 
 Said, CUPID, bend thy bow with fpeed, 
 Nor let thy lhaft at random rove, 
 
 For J E N N Y'S haughty heart maun bleed. 
 The milling boy, with art divine, 
 
 From Paphos mot an arrow keen, 
 Which flew, unerring, to the heart, 
 
 And kill'd the pride of bonny JEAN. 
 
 Nae mair the nymph, wi' haughty air, 
 
 Refufes WILLY'S kind addrefs; 
 Her yielding blufhes (hew nae care, 
 
 But too much fondnefs to fupprefs. 
 Nae mair the youth is fallen now, 
 
 But looks the gayefl on the green, 
 Whilft ev'ry day he fpies fome new 
 
 Surprifing charms in bonny JEAN. 
 
 A thoufand tranfports crowd his breaft, 
 
 He moves as light as fleeting wind; 
 His former forrows feem a jeft, 
 
 Now when his J E N N Y is turn'd kind; 
 Riches he looks on wi' difdain, 
 
 The glorious fields of war look mean ; 
 The chearful hound and horn give pain, 
 
 If abfent from his bonny JEAN. 
 
 The day he fpends in amorous gaze, 
 Which ev'n in fummer fhorten'd feems; 
 
 When funk in downs, wi' glad amaze, 
 He wonders at her in his dreams.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 185 
 
 A' charms difclos'd, me looks more bright 
 Than Troy's fair prize, the Spartan queen, 
 
 Wi' breaking day he lifts his fight, 
 And pants to be wi' bonny JEAN. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 ~VT O W Spring begins her fmiling round, 
 
 And lavifh paints th' enamell'd ground ; 
 The birds now lift their chearful voice, 
 And gay on every bough rejoice: 
 The lovely Graces, hand in hand, 
 Knit fafl in Love's eternal band, 
 With early ftep, at morning dawn, 
 Tread lightly o'er the dewy lawn. 
 
 Where-e'er the youthful fitters move, 
 They fire the foul to genial love : 
 Now, by the river's painted fide, 
 The fwain delights his country bride; 
 While pleas'd me hears his artlefs vows, 
 Each bird his feather'd confort wooes : 
 Soon will the ripen'd Summer yield 
 Her various gifts to ev'ry field. 
 
 The fertile trees, a lovely fhow ! 
 With ruby-tin6lur'd birth mall glow; 
 Sweet fmells from beds of lilies borne, 
 Perfume the breezes of the morn : 
 The fmiling day and dewy night, 
 To rural fcenes my fair invite; 
 With fummer-fweets to feaft her eye, 
 Yet foon, foon will the fummer fly. 
 Q3
 
 186 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Attend, my lovely maid, and know 
 To profit by th' inflruclive mow. 
 Now young and blooming thou appears, 
 All in the flourifh of thy years ; 
 The lovely bud mail foon difclofe 
 To ev'ry eye the blufhing rofe; 
 Now, now, the tender ftalk is feen, 
 With beauty frefh, and ever green : 
 
 But when the funny hours are pafl, 
 Think not the coz'ning fcene will laft; 
 Let not the flatterer, Hope, perfuade, 
 Ah! mufl I fay that it will fade? 
 For fee the fummer flies away, 
 Sad emblem of our own decay ! 
 Now winter from the frozen north, 
 Drives fwift his iron chariot forth. 
 
 His grifly hands in icy chains 
 Fair Tweda's filver ftream conftrains : 
 Caft up thy eyes, how bleak and bare 
 He wanders on the tops of Yare ! 
 Behold his footfteps dire are feen 
 Confeft o'er ev'ry with'ring green. 
 Griev'd at the fight, when thou malt fee 
 A fnowy wreath to cloath each tree ; 
 
 Frequenting now the ftream no more, 
 Thou fleeft, difpleas'd, the frozen more. 
 When thou malt mifs the flow'rs that grew 
 But late, to charm thy ravifh'd view; 
 Then mail a figh thy foul invade, 
 And o'er thy pleafures caft a made ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 187 
 
 Shall I, ah ! horrid ! wilt thou fay, 
 Be like to this fome other day? 
 
 But when in fnow and dreary froft 
 The pleafure of the field is loft, 
 To blazing hearths at home we run, 
 And fires fupply the diftant fun; 
 In gay delights our hours employ, 
 And do not lofe, but change our joy: 
 Happy ! abandon ev'ry care, 
 To lead the dance, to court the fair. 
 
 To turn the page of facred bards, 
 To drain the bowl, and deal the cards. 
 In cities thus, with witty friends, 
 In fmiles the hoary feafon ends. 
 But when the lovely white and red 
 From the pale afhy cheek is fled, 
 Then wrinkles dire and age fevere, 
 Make beauty fly we know not where. 
 
 The fair, whom Fates unkind difarm, 
 Ah! muft they ever ceafe to charm? 
 Or is there left fome pleafing art, 
 To keep fecure a captive heart? 
 Unhappy love ! may lovers fay, 
 Beauty, thy food does fwift decay; 
 When once that fhort-liv'd flock is fpent, 
 What is't thy famine can prevent? 
 
 Lay in good fenfe with timeous care, 
 That Love may live on Wifdom's fare ; 
 Tho' Ecftacy with Beauty flies, 
 Efteem is born when Beauty dies.
 
 i88 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Happy the man whom Fates decree 
 Their richeft gift in giving thee : 
 Thy beauty mall his youth engage, 
 Thy wifdom fhall delight his age. 
 
 Banks of Forth. 
 
 A WAKE, my love, with genial ray 
 
 The fun returning glads the day ; 
 Awake, the balmy zephyr blows, 
 The hawthorn blooms, the daifie glows, 
 The trees regain their verdant pride, 
 The turtle wooes his tender bride, 
 To love each warbler tunes the fong, 
 And Forth in dimples glides along. 
 
 O more than blooming daifies fair! 
 More fragrant than the vernal air ! 
 More gentle than the turtle-dove, 
 Or ftreams that murmur through the grove ! 
 Bethink thee all is on the wing, 
 Thefe pleafures wait on wafting fpring; 
 Then come, the tranfient blifs enjoy; 
 Nor fear what fleets fo faft will cloy. 
 
 vSame Tune. 
 
 "V" E fylvan pow'rs that rule the plain, 
 
 Where fweetly-winding Fortha glides, 
 Conduct me to thefe banks again, 
 
 Since there my charming MOLLY bides. 
 Thefe banks that breathe their vernal fweets, 
 Where ev'ry fmiling beauty meets ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 189 
 
 Where MOLLY'S charms adorn the plain, 
 And chear the heart of ev'ry fwain. 
 
 Thrice happy were the golden days, 
 
 When I, amidft the rural throng, 
 On Fortha's meadows breath'd my lays, 
 
 And MOLLY'S charms were all my fong. 
 While me was prefent all were gay, 
 No forrow did our mirth allay ; 
 We fung of pleafure, fung of love, 
 And mufic breath'd in ev'ry grove. 
 
 then was I the happieft fwain ! 
 No adverfe fortune marr'd my joy ; 
 
 The fhepherd figh'd for her in vain, 
 
 On me me fmil'd, to them was coy. 
 O'er Fortha's mazy banks we flray'd : 
 
 1 woo'd, I lov'd the beauteous maid ; 
 The beauteous maid my love return'd, 
 And both with equal ardour burn'd. 
 
 Once on the graffy bank reclin'd, 
 
 Where Forth ran by in murmurs deep, 
 
 It was my happy chance to find 
 
 The charming MOLLY lull'd afleep : 
 
 My heart then leap'd with inward blifs, 
 
 I foftly ftoop'd, and ftole a kifs ; 
 
 She wak'd, (he blufh'd, and faintly blam'd, 
 
 Why, DAMON, are you not afham'd ? 
 
 Oft in the thick embow'ring groves, 
 
 Where birds their mufic chirp'd aloud, 
 Alternately we fung our loves, 
 
 And Fortha's fair meanders view'd.
 
 190 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 The meadows wore a gen'ral fmile, 
 Love was our banquet all the while ; 
 The lovely profpecT: charm 'd the eye, 
 To where the ocean met the fky. 
 
 Ye fylvan powers, ye rural gods, 
 
 To whom we fwains our cares impart, 
 Reflore me to thefe blefs'd abodes, 
 
 And eafe, oh eafe ! my love-fide heart ; 
 Thefe happy days again reflore, 
 When MOLL and I mall part no more ; 
 When me fhall fill thefe longing arms, 
 And crown my blifs with all her charms. 
 
 Bufh aboon Traquair. 
 
 TT EAR me, ye nymphs, and ev'ry fwain, 
 
 I'll tell how PEGGY grieves me ; 
 Though thus I languifh, thus complain, 
 
 Alas ! me ne'er believes me. 
 My vows and fighs, like filent air, 
 
 Unheeded never move her. 
 At the bonny bufh aboon Traquair, 
 
 Twas there I firft did love her. 
 
 That day fhe fmil'd, and made me glad, 
 
 No maid feem'd ever kinder ; 
 I thought myfelf the luckieft lad, 
 
 So fweetly there to find her. 
 I try'd to foothe my am'rous flame, 
 
 In words that I thought tender ; 
 If more there pafs'd I'm not to blame, 
 
 I meant not to offend her.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 191 
 
 Yet now me fcornful flies the plain, 
 
 The fields we then frequented ; 
 If e'er we meet, me mews difdain, 
 
 She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
 The bonny bum bloom'd fair in May, 
 
 Its fweets I'll ay remember; 
 But now her frowns make it decay, 
 
 It fades as in December. 
 
 Ye rural pow'rs, who hear my flrains, 
 
 Why thus mould PEGGY grieve me? 
 Oh ! mak her partner in my pains, 
 
 Then let her fmiles relieve me. 
 If not, my love will turn defpair, 
 
 My paffion nae mair tender; 
 I'll leave the bum aboon Traquair, 
 
 To lonely wilds I'll wander. 
 
 Birks of Invermay. 
 
 T" 1 H E fmiling morn, the breathing fpring, 
 
 Invite the tunefu' birds to fmg; 
 And while they warble from each fpray, 
 Love melts the univerfal lay; 
 Let us, Amanda, timely wife, 
 Like them improve the hour that flies, 
 And in faft raptures wafte the day 
 Amang the birks of Invermay. 
 
 For foon the winter of the year, 
 And age, life's winter, will appear; 
 At this thy lively bloom will fade, 
 As that will drip the verdant fhade ;
 
 192 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Our tafte of pleafure then is o'er, 
 The feather'd fongfters pleafe no more ; 
 And when they droop and we decay, 
 Adieu the birks of Invermay. 
 
 The lav'rocks now and lintwhites fmg, 
 The rocks around wi' echoes ring, 
 The mavis and the blackbird vye 
 In tunefu' ftrains to glad the day; 
 The woods now wear their fummer-fuits, 
 To mirth a' nature now invites; 
 Let us be blythfome then, and gay, 
 Amang the birks of Invermay. 
 
 Behold, the hills and vales around 
 With lowing herds and flocks abound; 
 The wanton kids and frifking lambs . 
 Gambol and dance about their dams; 
 The bufy bees with humming noife, 
 And a' the reptile kind rejoice; 
 Let us, like them, then fmg and play 
 About the birks of Invermay. 
 
 Hark how the waters, as they fa', 
 Loudly my love to gladnefs ca'; 
 The wanton waves fport in the beams, 
 And rimes play throughout the dreams; 
 The circling fun does now advance, 
 And all the planets round him dance; 
 Let us as jovial be as they 
 Amang the birks of Invermay.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 193 
 
 Braes of Ballenden. 
 By Mr Blacklock. 
 
 "DENEATHa green fhade, a lovely young fwain 
 
 Ae ev'ning reclin'd to difcover his pain ; 
 So fad, yet fo fweetly he warbled his woe, 
 The wind ceas'd to breathe, and the fountains to flow ; 
 Rude winds, wi' compaffion, cou'd hear him complain, 
 Yet C H L o E , lefs gentle, was deaf to his ftrain. 
 
 How happy, he cry'd, my moments once flew, 
 E'er C H L o E'S bright charms firfl flafh'd in my view; 
 Thofe eyes then, wi' pleafure, the dawn cou'd furvey, 
 Nor fmil'd the fair morning mair chearfu' than they; 
 Now fcenes of diftrefs pleafe only my fight, 
 I'm tortur'd in pleafure, and languifh in light. 
 
 Thro' changes, in vain, relief I purfue, 
 All, all but confpire my griefs to renew; 
 From funfhine to zephyrs and fhades we repair, 
 To funfhine we fly from too piercing an air : 
 But love's ardent fever burns always the fame; 
 No winter can cool it, no fummer inflame. 
 
 But fee the pale moon, all clouded, retires, 
 The breezes grow cool, not STREPHON'S defires : 
 I fly from the dangers of tempeft and wind, 
 Yet nourifh the madnefs that preys on my mind ; 
 Ah, wretch! how can life be worthy thy care? 
 To lengthen its moments, but lengthens defpair. 
 VOL. I. (13) R
 
 194 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Braes of Yarrow. 
 
 T) U S K ye, bufk ye, my bonny bride, 
 
 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my winfome marrow, 
 Bufk ye, bufk ye, my bonny bride, 
 
 Bufk and go to the braes of Yarrow. 
 There will we fport and gather dew, 
 
 Dancing while lav'rocks fing the morning : 
 There learn frae turtles to prove true; 
 
 O BELL, ne'er vex me with thy fcorning. 
 
 To wefllin breezes FLORA yields, 
 
 And when the beams are kindly warming, 
 Blythnefs appears o'er all the fields, 
 
 And nature looks mair frefh and charming. 
 Learn frae the burns that trace the mead, 
 
 Tho' on their banks the rofes bloffom, 
 Yet haflily they flow to Tweed, 
 
 And pour their fweetnefs in his bofom. 
 
 Hafle ye, hafte ye, my bonny BELL, 
 
 Hafle to my arms, and there I'll guard thee, 
 Wi' free confent my fears repel, 
 
 I'll wi' my love and care reward thee. 
 Thus fang I faftly to my fair, 
 
 Who rais'd my hopes with kind relenting; 
 O queen of fmiles, I afk nae mair, 
 
 Since now my bonny BELL'S confenting. 
 
 Bonny Boatman. 
 
 X^E gales that gently wave the fea, 
 And pleafe the canny boatman,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 195 
 
 Bear me frae hence, or bring to me 
 My brave, my bonny Scot man : 
 
 In haly bands 
 
 We join'd our hands, 
 Yet may not this difcover, 
 
 While parents rate 
 
 A large eftate, 
 Before a faithfu' lover. 
 
 But I loor chufe in Highland glens 
 To herd the kid and goat-- -man, 
 Ere I cou'd for fie little ends 
 Refufe my bonny Scot ---man. 
 
 Wae worth the man 
 
 Wha firfl began 
 The bafe ungen'rous fafhion, 
 
 Frae greedy views 
 
 Love's arts to ufe, 
 While ftranger to its paffion. 
 
 Frae foreign fields, my lovely youth, 
 
 Hafte to thy longing laffie, 
 Who pants to prefs thy bawmy youth, 
 And in her bofom haufe thee. 
 Love gi'es the word, 
 Then hafte on board, 
 Fair winds and tenty boatman, 
 Waft o'er, waft o'er 
 Frae yonder more, 
 My blyth, my bonny Scot---man. 
 R 2
 
 196 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Blink over the Burn, fweet BETTY. 
 
 T E A V E kindred and friends, fweet BETTY, 
 
 Leave kindred and friends for me : 
 Affur'd thy fervant is fteddy 
 
 To love, to honour, and thee. 
 The gifts of nature and fortune 
 
 May flee by chance as they came ; 
 They're grounds the deftinies fport on, 
 
 But virtue is ever the fame. 
 
 Altho' my fancy were roving, 
 
 Thy charms fo heav'nly appear, 
 That other beauties difproving, 
 
 I'd worfhip thine only, my dear. 
 And fhou'd life's forrows embitter 
 
 The pleafure we promis'd our loves, 
 To mare them together is fitter, 
 
 Than moan afunder like doves. 
 
 Oh ! were I but ance fo bleffed, 
 
 To grafp my love in my arms! 
 By thee to be grafp'd, and kiffed ! 
 
 And live on thy heaven of charms ! 
 I'd laugh at Fortune's caprices, 
 
 Shou'd Fortune capricious pruve ; 
 Though death mould tear me to pieces, 
 
 I'd die a martyr to luve. 
 
 BESSY'S Haggies. 
 
 "t> E S S Y's beauties mine fae bright, 
 Were her mony virtues fewer,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 197 
 
 She wad ever gie delight, 
 
 And in tranfport mak me view her. 
 Bonny BESSY, thee alane 
 
 Love I, naething elfe about thee ; 
 With thy comelinefs I'm tane, 
 
 And langer cannae live without thee. 
 
 BESSY'S bofom's faft and warm, 
 
 Milk-white fingers ftill employ'd, 
 He who taks her to his arm, 
 
 Of her fweets can ne'er be cloy'd. 
 My dear BESSY, when the rofes 
 
 Leave thy cheek, as thou grows aulder, 
 Virtue, which thy mind difclofes, 
 
 Will keep love from growing caulder. 
 
 BESSY'S tocher is but fcanty, 
 
 Yet her face and foul difcovers 
 Thofe enchanting fweets in plenty 
 
 Maun entice a thoufand lovers. 
 It's not money, but a woman 
 
 Of a temper kind and eafy, 
 That gives happinefs uncommon, 
 
 Petted things can nought but teaze ye. 
 
 Bonnieft Lafs in a' the Warld. 
 
 T O O K where my dear H A M i L L A fmiles, 
 
 H A M i L L A ! heavenly charmer ; 
 See how wi' a' their arts and wiles 
 The Loves and Graces arm her. 
 R 3
 
 198 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 A blufh dwells glowing on her cheeks, 
 Fair feats of youthful pleafures, 
 
 There love in fmiling language fpeaks, 
 There fpreads his rofy treafures. 
 
 O faireft maid ! I own thy power, 
 
 I gaze, I figh, and languifh, 
 Yet ever, ever will adore, 
 
 And triumph in my anguifh. 
 But eafe, O charmer ! eafe my care, 
 
 And let my torments move thee; 
 As thou art faireft of the fair, 
 
 So I the deareft love thee. 
 
 Bonny CHRISTY. 
 
 ~LT O W fweetly fmells the fimmer green ! 
 
 Sweet tafte the peach and cherry; 
 Painting and order pleafe our e'en, 
 
 And claret maks us merry : 
 But fineft colours, fruits, and flours, 
 
 And wine, though I be thirfty, 
 Lofe a' their charms and weaker powers, 
 
 Compar'd with thofe of C H R i s T Y. 
 
 When wand'ring o'er the floury park, 
 
 Nae nat'ral beauty wanting, 
 How lightfome is't to hear the lark, 
 
 And birds in confort chanting? 
 But if my CHRISTY tunes her voice, 
 
 I'm wrapt in admiration ; 
 My thoughts with extafies rejoice, 
 
 And drap the hale creation.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 199 
 
 Whene'er me fmiles a kindly glance, 
 
 I tak the happy omen, 
 And aften mint to make advance, 
 
 Hoping flie'll prove a woman : 
 But, dubious of my ain defert, 
 
 My fentiments I fmother; 
 With fecret fighs I vex my heart, 
 
 For fear (he loves another. 
 
 Thus fang blate E D I E by a burn, 
 
 His CHRISTY did o'er-hear him ; 
 She doughtna let her lover mourn, 
 
 But e'er he wift drew near him. 
 She fpake her favour with a look, 
 
 Which left nae room to doubt her; 
 He wifely this white minute took, 
 
 And flang his arms about her. 
 
 My CHRIST Y !---witnefs, bonny flream, 
 
 Sic joys frae tears arifing, 
 I wifh this may na be a dream ; 
 
 O love the maift furprifmg! 
 Time was too precious now for tauk; 
 
 This point of a' his wifhes 
 He wadna with fet fpeeches bauk, 
 
 But war'd it a' on kiffes. 
 
 BESSY BELL and MARY GRAY. 
 
 r\ BESSY BELL and M A R Y G R A Y, 
 
 They war twa bonny laffes, 
 They biggi'd a bower on yon burn brae 
 And thecked it o'er wi' rafhes.
 
 200 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Fair BESSYBELL! loo'd yeftreen, 
 And thought I ne'er could alter : 
 
 But MARY GRAY'S twa pawky een, 
 They gar my fancy falter. 
 
 Now BESSY'S hair's like a lint-tap ; 
 
 She fmiles like a May morning, 
 When PHOEBUS ftarts frae THETIS' lap, 
 
 The hills with rays adorning : 
 White is her neck, faft is her hand, 
 
 Her waift and feet's fu genty; 
 With ilka grace me can command; 
 
 Her lips, O wow! they're dainty. 
 
 And M A R Y'S locks are like a craw, 
 
 Her e'en like diamonds glances; 
 She's ay fae clean, redd up and braw, 
 
 She kills whene'er fhe dances; 
 Blyth as a kid, with wit at will, 
 
 She blooming, tight and tall is; 
 And guides her airs fae gracefu' flill, 
 
 O JOVE, fhe's like thy PALLAS. 
 
 Dear BESSY BELL and MARY GRAY, 
 
 Ye unco fair opprefs us; 
 Our fancies jee between you tway, 
 
 Ze are fie bonny laffes : 
 Waes me ! for baith I canna get, 
 
 To ane by law we're flented ; 
 Then I'll draw cuts, and tack my fate, 
 
 And be with ane contented.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 201 
 
 Bonny Lafs of Brankfome. 
 
 A S I came in by Tiviot-fide, 
 
 And by the braes of Brankfome, 
 There firft I faw my bonny bride, 
 
 Young, fmiling, fweet, and handfome; 
 Her (kin was fafter than the down, 
 
 And white as alabafter; 
 Her hair a fhining wavy brown ; 
 In ftraightnefs nane furpaft her. 
 
 Life glow'd upon her lip and cheek, 
 
 Her clear een were furprifmg, 
 And beautifully turn'd her neck, 
 
 Her little breafls juft rifmg. 
 Nae filken hofe wi' goofhets fine, 
 
 Or fhoon wi' glancing laces, 
 On her bare leg forbade to fhine, 
 
 Well-fhapen native graces. 
 
 Ae little coat, and bodice white, 
 
 Was fum of a' her clai thing ; 
 EVn thefe o'er meikle; mair delyte 
 
 She'd given cled wi' naething. 
 She lean'd upon a flowry brae, 
 
 By which a burnie trotted ; 
 On her I glowr'd my faul away, 
 
 While on her fweets I doated. 
 
 A thoufand beauties of defert 
 
 Before had fcarce alarm'd me, 
 Till this dear artlefs ftruck my heart. 
 
 And, butt defigning, charm'd me.
 
 202 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Hurry'd by love, clofe to my bread 
 
 I grafp'd this fund of bliffes ; 
 Wha fmil'd, and faid, Without a prieft, 
 
 Sir, hope for nought but kiffes. 
 
 I had nae heart to do her harm, 
 
 And yet I cou'dna want her; 
 What fhe demanded, ilka charm 
 
 Of hers pled, I fhou'd grant her. 
 Since Heav'n had dealt to me a routh, 
 
 Straight to the kirk I led her; 
 There plighted her my faith and trowth, 
 
 And a young lady made her. 
 
 Charms of Lovely PEGGY. 
 
 f\ N C E more I'll tune the vocal (hell, 
 To hills and dales my paffion tell; 
 A flame which time can never quell, 
 
 That burns for thee, my P E G G Y. 
 Yet greater bards the lyre mould hit ; 
 For pray what fubject is more fit, 
 Than to record the facred wit, 
 
 And bloom of lovely PEGGY? 
 
 The fun juft rifing in the morn, 
 
 That paints the new-befpangled thorn, 
 
 Does not fo much the day adorn 
 
 As does my lovely P E G G v. 
 And when in T H E T i s ' lap to reft, 
 He ftreaks with gold the ruddy weft, 
 He's not fo beauteous as, undrefl, 
 
 Appears my lovely PEGGY.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 203 
 
 Were (he array'd in ruflic weed, 
 With her the bleating flocks I'd feed, 
 And pipe upon my oaken reed, 
 
 To pleafe my lovely PEGGY. 
 With her a cottage would delight, 
 All pleafes while (he's in my fight; 
 But when fhe's gone 'tis endlefs night, 
 
 All's dark without my P E G G Y. 
 
 When Zephyr on the violet blows, 
 Or breathes upon the damafk rofe, 
 They do not half the fweets difclofe, 
 
 As does my lovely PEGGY. 
 I flole a kifs the other day, 
 And, truft me, nought but truth I fay, 
 The fragrant breath of blooming May 
 
 Was not fo fweet as PEGGY. 
 
 While bees from flow'r to flow'r do rove, 
 And linnets warble thro' the grove, 
 Or flately fwans the waters love, 
 
 So lang mail I love my PEGGY. 
 And when Death, with his pointed dart, 
 Shall ftrike the blow that wounds my heart, 
 My words fhall be, when I depart, 
 
 Adieu, my lovely PEGGY. 
 
 Cold Frofty Morning. 
 
 TT7" HEN innocent paftime our pleafures did crown, 
 
 Upon a green meadow, or under a tree, 
 Ere ANNIE became a fine lady in town, 
 How lovely, and loving, and bonny was (he?
 
 204 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Roufe up thy reafon my beautiful ANNIE, 
 Let ne'er a new whim ding thy fancy a jee : 
 
 O ! as thou art bonny, be faithful and canny, 
 And favour thy JAMIE wha dotes upon thee. 
 
 Does the death of a lintwhite give ANNIE the fpleen ? 
 
 Can tyning of trifles be uneafy to thee? 
 Can lapdogs or monkies draw tears from thofe een, 
 
 That look with indiff'rence on poor dying me? 
 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautiful ANNIE, 
 
 And dinna prefer a paroquet to me : 
 O ! as thou art bonny, be prudent and canny, 
 
 And think upon JAMIE wha doats upon thee. 
 
 Ah ! mould a new mantua or Flanders lace head, 
 
 Or yet a wee coatie, though never fo fine, 
 Gar thee grow forgetful, or let his heart bleed, 
 
 That anes had fome hope of purchafing thine? 
 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautiful ANNIE, 
 
 And dinna prefer ye'r fleegaries to me : 
 O ! as thou art bonny, be folid and canny, 
 
 And tent a true lover that doats upon thee. 
 
 Shall a Paris edition of new-fangled S A N Y, 
 
 Tho' gilt o'er wi' laces and fringes he be, 
 By adoring himfelf, be admir'd by fair ANNIE, 
 
 And aim at thofe benifons promis'd to me? 
 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautiful ANNIE, 
 
 And never prefer a light dancer to me : 
 O ! as thou art bonny, be conftant and canny, 
 
 Love only thy JAMIE wha dotes upon thee. 
 
 O think, my dear charmer ! on ilka fweet hour, 
 That flade away faftly between thee and me,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 205 
 
 Ere fquirrels, or beaus, or fopp'ry had pow'r 
 To rival my love, or impofe upon thee. 
 
 Roufe up thy reafon, my beautiful ANNIE, 
 And let thy defires be a' center'd in me : 
 
 O ! as thou art bonny, be faithful and canny, 
 And love him wa's langing to center in thee. 
 
 Cumbernauld Houfe. 
 
 pROM anxious zeal and faclious ftrife, 
 
 From all th' uneafy cares of life, 
 From beauty flill to merit blind, 
 And ftill to fools and coxcombs kind; 
 To where the woods, in brightefl green, 
 Like rifmg theatres are feen, 
 Where gently murm'ring runs the rill, 
 And draws frefh ftreams from ev'ry hill : 
 
 Where PHILOMEL, in mournful flrains, 
 
 Like me, of hopelefs love complains, 
 
 Retir'd I pafs the livelong day, 
 
 And idly trifle life away : 
 
 My lyre to tender accents ftrung, 
 
 I tell each flight, each fcorn and wrong, 
 
 Then reafon to my aid I call, 
 
 Review paft fcenes, and fcorn them all. 
 
 Superior thoughts my mind engage, 
 Allur'd by NEWTON'S tempting page, 
 Through new-found worlds I wing my flight, 
 And trace the glorious fource of light : 
 But mould C L A R i N D A there appear, 
 With all her charms of fhape and air, 
 VOL. I. S
 
 206 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 How frail my fixt refolves would prove, 
 Again I'd yield, again I'd love ! 
 
 Corn Riggs are bonny. 
 
 "IV/T Y P A T i E is a lover gay, 
 
 His mind is never muddy, 
 His breath is fweeter than new hay, 
 His face is fair and ruddy. 
 
 His fliape is handfome, middle fize, 
 He's (lately in his wawking; 
 
 The mining of his een furprife ; 
 'Tis heav'n to hear him tawking. 
 
 Lafl night I met him on a bawk, 
 Where yellow corn was growing, 
 
 There mony a kindly word he fpake, 
 That fet my heart a-glowing. 
 
 He kifs'd, and vow'd he wad be mine, 
 
 And loo'd me befl of ony; 
 That gars me like to fmg finfyne, 
 
 O corn rigs are bonny. 
 
 Let maidens of a filly mind 
 
 Refufe what maift they're wanting, 
 
 Since we for yielding are defign'd, 
 We chaftely mould be granting : 
 
 Then I'll comply and marry P ATE, 
 
 And fyne my cockernony 
 He's free to touzle air or late 
 
 Where corn rigs are bonny.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 207 
 
 Collier's Bonny Laflie. 
 
 r ~p H E collier has a daughter, 
 
 And O fhe's wonder bonny, 
 A laird he was that fought her, 
 
 Rich baith in lands and money : 
 The tutors watch'd the motion, 
 
 Of this young honeft lover; 
 But love is like the ocean; 
 
 Wha can its depth difcover ! 
 
 He had the art to pleafe ye, 
 
 And was by a' refpected; 
 His airs fat round him eafy, 
 
 Genteel, but unaffected. 
 The collier's bonnie laffie, 
 
 Fair as the new-blown lillie, 
 Ay fweet, and never faucy, 
 
 Secur'd the heart of W i L L r E . 
 
 He lov'd beyond expreffion 
 
 The charms that were about her, 
 And panted for poffeffion, 
 
 His life was dull without her. 
 After mature refolving, 
 
 Clofe to his bread he held her, 
 In fafteil flames diffolving, 
 
 He tenderly thus tell'd her : 
 
 My bonny collier's daughter, 
 
 Let naething difcompofe ye, 
 'Tis no your fcanty tocher 
 
 Shall ever gar me lofe ye : 
 S 2
 
 208 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 For I have gear in plenty, 
 
 And love fays, 'tis my duty 
 To ware what Heaven has lent me, 
 
 Upon your wit and beauty. 
 
 Down the Burn, DA VIE. 
 
 TT7" HEN trees did bud, and fields were green, 
 
 And broom bloom'd fair to fee ; 
 When MARY was complete fifteen, 
 
 And love laugh'd in her eye ; 
 Blyth D A v i E'S blinks her heart did move, 
 
 To fpeak her mind thus free, 
 Gang down the burn, D A v i E, love, 
 
 And I JJiall follow thee. 
 
 Now D A v i E did each lad furpafs, 
 
 That dwelt on this burn fide, 
 And MARY was the bonnieft lafs, 
 
 Jufl meet to be a bride : 
 Her cheeks were rofie, red, and white, 
 
 Her een were bonny blue : 
 Her looks were like AURORA bright, 
 
 Her lips like dropping dew. 
 
 As down the burn they took their way, 
 
 What tender tales they faid ! 
 His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 
 
 And with her bofom play'd; 
 Till baith at length impatient grown, 
 
 To be mair fully bleil, 
 In yonder vale they lean'd them down ; 
 
 Love only faw the reft.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 209 
 
 Whatpaffd, I guefs, was harmlefs play, 
 
 And naething f ure unmeet; 
 For ganging hame, I heard them fay, 
 
 They lik'd a wawk fae fweet ; 
 And that they often f]iou'd return 
 
 Sick pleafitre to renew. 
 Quoth MARY, Love, I like the burn, 
 
 And ay JJiall follow you. 
 
 Dumbarton Drums. 
 
 "T\UM BARTON'S drums beat bonny---O, 
 
 When they mind me of my dear J o N N Y---O. 
 
 How happy am I, 
 
 When my foldier is by, 
 
 While he kiffes and bleffes his A N N i E--O ! 
 'Tis a foldier alone can delight me---O, 
 For his graceful looks do invite me---O : 
 
 While guarded in his arms, 
 
 I'll fear no war's alarms, 
 Neither danger nor death mall e'er fright me---O- 
 
 My love is a handfome laddie -O, 
 Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy O; 
 
 Tho' commiffions are dear, 
 
 Yet I'll buy him one this year; 
 For he fliall ferve no longer a cadie---O. 
 A foldier has honour and bravery--- O, 
 Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery ---O: 
 
 He minds no other thing 
 
 But the ladies or the king : 
 For every other care is but flavery---O. 
 
 Then I'll be the captain's lady---O: 
 Farewell all my friends and my daddy--- O,
 
 210 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I'll wait no more at home, 
 But I'll follow with the drum, 
 
 And whene'er that beats I'll be ready---O. 
 
 Dumbarton's drums found bonny ---O, 
 
 They are fprightly like my dear J o N N Y---O : 
 How happy (hall I be, 
 When on my foldier's knee, 
 
 And he kiffes and bleffes his A N N I E---O! 
 
 Dunt, dunt, pittie, pattie. 
 
 f~\ N Whitfunday morning 
 
 I went to the fair, 
 My yellow-hair'd laddie 
 
 Was felling his ware ; 
 He gied me fick a blyth blink 
 
 With his bonny black eye, 
 And a dear blink, and a fair blink 
 
 It was unto me. 
 
 I wifl not what ail'd me 
 
 When my laddie came in. 
 The little wee (larnies 
 
 Flew ay frae my een; 
 And the fvveat it dropt down 
 
 Frae my very eye-brie, 
 And my heart play'd ay 
 
 Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie, pattie. 
 
 I wifl not what ail'd me, 
 When I went to my bed,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 2-ri 
 
 I toffed and tumbled, 
 
 And fleep frae me fled. 
 Now, its fleeping and waking 
 
 He's ay in my eye, 
 And my heart play'd ay 
 
 Dunt, dunt, dunt, pittie, pattie. 
 
 The Deceiver. 
 
 "ITT" I T H tuneful pipe and hearty glee, 
 
 Young WAXY wan my heart ; 
 A blyther lad ye coudna fee, 
 All beauty without art. 
 
 His winning tale 
 
 Did foon prevail 
 To gain my fond belief; 
 
 But foon the fwain 
 
 Gangs o'er the plain, 
 And leaves me full, and leaves me full, 
 
 And leaves me full of grief. 
 
 Though COLIN courts with tuneful fang, 
 
 Yet few regard his mane; 
 The laffes a' round W A T Y thrang, 
 While C o L i N ' s left alane : 
 
 In Aberdeen 
 
 Was never feen 
 A lad that gave fie pain ; 
 
 He daily wooes, 
 
 And ftill purfues, 
 Till he does all, till he does all, 
 
 Till he does all obtain.
 
 212 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 But foon as he has gain'd the blifs, 
 
 Away then does he run, 
 And hardly will afford a kifs 
 To filly me undone : 
 
 Bonny K A T v , 
 
 MAGGY, B E A T Y, 
 Avoid the roving fwain; 
 
 His wyly tongue 
 
 Be fure to fhun, 
 Or you like me, or you like me, 
 
 Like me will be undone. 
 
 Ettrick Banks. 
 
 /~\ N Ettrick banks, in a fummer's night, 
 
 At glowming when the fheep drave hame, 
 I met my laffie braw and tight, 
 
 Come wading barefoot a' her lane : 
 My heart grew light, I ran, I flang 
 
 My arms about her lily neck, 
 And kifs'd and clapt her there fou lang, 
 
 My words they were na mony feck. 
 
 I faid, My laflie, will ye go 
 
 To the Highland hills, the Erfe to learn? 
 I'll baith gie thee a cow and ew, 
 
 When ye come to the brigg of Earn. 
 At Leith auld meal comes in, ne'er fafh, 
 
 And herrings at the Broomy Law; 
 Chear up your heart, my bonny lafs, 
 
 There's gear to win we never faw.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 213 
 
 All day when we have wrought enough, 
 
 When winter, frofts, and fnaw begin, 
 Soon as the fun gaes weft the loch, 
 
 At night when ye fit down to fpin, 
 I'll fcrew my pipes, and play a fpring; 
 
 And thus the weary night we'll end, 
 Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring 
 
 Our pleafant fimmer back again. 
 
 Syne when the trees are in their bloom, 
 
 And gowans glent o'er ilka field, 
 I'll meet my lafs amang the broom, 
 
 And lead you to my fummer flieild. 
 Then far frae a' their fcornfu' din, 
 
 That make the kindly hearts their fport, 
 We'll laugh, and kifs, and dance, and fmg, 
 
 And gar the langeft day feem fhort. 
 
 Ew-bughts MARION. 
 
 T\7" I L L ye go to the ew-bughts, MARION, 
 
 And wear in the fheep wi' me ; 
 The fun mines fweet, my MARION, 
 
 But nae haff fae fweet as thee. 
 O MARION'S a bonny lafs, 
 
 And the blyth blinks in her eye ; 
 And fain wad I marry MARION, 
 
 Gin MARION wad marry me. 
 
 There's gowd in your garters, MARION, 
 And filk on your white haufe-bane;
 
 2i 4 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Fu' fain wad I kifs my MARION 
 
 At e'en when I come hame. 
 There's braw lads in Ernflaw, MARION, 
 
 Wha gape and glowr with their ee, 
 At kirk when they fee my MARION; 
 
 But nane of them lo'es like me. 
 
 I've nine milk-ews, my MARION, 
 
 A cow and a brawny quey, 
 I'll gie them a' to my MARION, 
 
 Jufl on her bridal-day : 
 And ye's get a green fey apron, 
 
 And waiflcoat of the London brown, 
 And wow but ye will be vap'ring, 
 
 Whene'er ye gang to the town. 
 
 I'm young and flout, my MARION; 
 
 Nane dance like me on the green ; 
 And gin ye forfake me, MARION, 
 
 I'll e'en draw up wi' JEAN: 
 Sae put on your pearlins, MARION, 
 
 And kyrtle of the cramafie; 
 As foon as my chin has nae hair on, 
 
 I mail come weft and fee ye. 
 
 Flowers of the Forefh. 
 
 T ' V E feen the fmiling 
 
 Of Fortune beguiling, 
 I've felt all its favours, and found its decay ; 
 
 Sweet was its bleffing, 
 
 Kind its careffmg, 
 But now 'tis fled,-- ---fled far away.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 215 
 
 I've feen the forefl 
 
 Adorn'd the foremoft, 
 With flowers of the fairefl, moft pleafant and gay ; 
 
 Sae bonny was their blooming, 
 
 Their fcent the air perfuming ; 
 But now they are wither'd and wedded away. 
 
 I've feen the morning, 
 
 With gold the hills adorning, 
 And loud tempeft florming before the mid-day. 
 
 I've feen Tweed's filver ftreams 
 
 Shining in the funny beams, 
 Grow drumbly and dark as he row'd on his way. 
 
 O fickle Fortune ! 
 
 Why this cruel fporting? 
 O why ftill perplex us, poor fons of a day? 
 
 Nae mair your fmiles can chear me, 
 
 Nae mair your frowns can fear me, 
 For the flowers of the foreft are withered away. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 A D I E U, ye ftreams that fmoothly glide 
 Through mazy windings o'er the plain, 
 I'll in fome lonely cave refide, 
 
 And ever mourn my faithful fwain. 
 Flower of the forefl was my love, 
 
 Soft as the fighing fummer's gale, 
 Gentle and conllant as the dove, 
 Blooming as rofes in the vale. 
 
 Alas ! by Tweed my love did ftray, 
 For me he fearch'd the banks around ;
 
 216 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 But, ah ! the fad and fatal day, 
 
 My love, the pride of fvvains, was drown'd. 
 Now droops the willow o'er the ftream, 
 
 Pale ftalks his ghoft in yonder grove, 
 Uire Fancy paints him in my dream, 
 
 Awake I mourn my hopelefs love. 
 
 Flowers of Edinburgh. 
 
 "JV/T Y love was once a bonny lad, 
 
 He was the flower of all his kin. 
 The abfence of his bonny face 
 
 Has rent my tender heart in twain. 
 I day nor night find no delight, 
 
 In filent tears I ftill complain; 
 And exclaim 'gainft thofe my rival foes, 
 
 That ha'e ta'en from me my darling fwain. 
 
 Defpair and anguifh fills my bread, 
 
 Since I have loft my blooming rofe ; 
 I figh and moan while others reft, 
 
 His abfence yields me no repofe. 
 To feek my love I'll range and rove, 
 
 Thro' every grove and diftant plain; 
 Thus I'll ne'er ceafe, but fpend my days, 
 
 To hear tidings from my darling fwain, 
 
 There's naething flrange in Nature's change, 
 Since parents fhew fuch cruelty; 
 
 They caus'd my love from me to range, 
 And knows not to what defliny.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 217 
 
 The pretty kids and tender lambs 
 
 May ceafe to fport upon the plain ; 
 But I'll mourn and lament in deep difcontent 
 
 For the abfence of my darling fwain. 
 
 Kind NEPTUNE, let me thee entreat, 
 
 To fend a fair and pleafant gale ; 
 Ye dolphins fweet, upon me wait, 
 
 And convey me on your tail ; 
 Heavens blefs my voyage with fuccefs, 
 
 While croffmg of the raging main, 
 And fend me fafe o'er to that diftant more, 
 
 To meet my lovely darling fwain. 
 
 All joy and mirth at our return 
 
 Shall then abound from Tweed to Tay ; 
 The bells fhall ring and fweet birds fing, 
 
 To grace and crown our nuptial day. 
 Thus blefs'd wi' charms in my love's arms, 
 
 My heart once more I will regain ; 
 Then I'll range no more to a diftant fhore, 
 
 But in love will enjoy my darling fwain. 
 
 Fourteenth of O6lober. 
 
 "V" E gods ! was STREPHON'S picture bleft 
 
 With the fair heaven of C H L o E'S breafl ? 
 Move fofter, thou fond flutt'ring heart, 
 Oh gently throb, ---too fierce thou art. 
 Tell me, thou brighteft of thy kind, 
 For STREP H ON was the blifs defign'd ? 
 For STREPHON'S fake, dear charming maid, 
 Didft thou prefer his wand'ring made ? 
 VOL. I. T
 
 218 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 And thou, blefl fhade, that fvveetly art 
 Lodg'd fo near my C H L o E'S heart, 
 For me the tender hour improve, 
 And foftly tell how dear I love. 
 Ungrateful thing ! it fcorns to hear 
 Its wretched matter's ardent prayer, 
 Ingroffmg all that beauteous heaven, 
 That C H L o E, lavifh maid, has given. 
 
 I cannot blame thee; were I lord 
 Of all the wealth thefe breafts afford, 
 I'd be a mifer too, nor give 
 An alms to keep a god alive. 
 Oh ! fmile not thus, my lovely fair, 
 On thefe cold looks that lifelefs are ; 
 Prize him whofe bofom glows with fire, 
 With eager love and foft defire. 
 
 'Tis true, thy charms, O pow'rful maid, 
 To life can bring the filent made : 
 Thou canft furpafs the painter's art, 
 And real warmth and flames impart, 
 But, oh ! it ne'er can love like me, 
 I ever lov'd, and lov'd but thee : 
 Then, charmer, grant my fond requeft, 
 Say, thou canft love, and make me bleft. 
 
 Fa i reft of her Days. 
 
 "ITT" Ho E'ER beholds my H ELEN'S face, 
 And fays not that good hap has (he ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 219 
 
 Who hears her fpeak, and tents her grace, 
 Sail think nane ever fpake but me. 
 TJicJJwrt way to refound her praife, 
 She is the fair eft of her days. 
 
 Who knows her wit, and not admires, 
 
 He maun be deem'd devoid of (kill ; 
 Her virtues kindle ftrong defires 
 
 In them that think upon her flill. 
 TheJJiort way, etc. 
 
 Her red is like unto the rofe 
 
 Whafe buds are op'ning to the fun. 
 Her comely colours do difclofe 
 
 The firft degree of ripenefs won. 
 TheJJiort way. etc. 
 
 And with the red is mixt the white, 
 
 Like to the fun and fair moonfhine, 
 That does upon clear waters light, 
 And makes the colour feem divine. 
 TheJJiort way to refound her praife, 
 She is the faireft of her days. 
 
 G I L D E R O Y. 
 
 A H! CHLORIS, could I now but fit 
 
 As unconcern'd as when 
 Your infant-beauty could beget 
 No happinefs nor pain. 
 
 T 2
 
 220 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 When I this dawning did admire, 
 
 And prais'd the coming day, 
 I little thought that rifmg fire 
 
 Would take my reft away. 
 
 Your charms in harmlefs childhood lay, 
 
 As metals in a mine. 
 Age from no face takes more away, 
 
 Than youth conceal'd in thine. 
 But as your charms infenfibly 
 
 To their perfection prefl : 
 So love as unperceiv'd did fly, 
 
 And center'd in my bread. 
 
 My paflion with your beauty grew, 
 
 While C u P i D at my heart, 
 Still as his mother favour'd you, 
 
 Threw a new-flaming dart. 
 Each gloried in their wanton part : 
 
 To make a lover, he 
 Employ'd the utmoft of his art ; 
 
 To make a beauty, me. 
 
 Gallowfhiels. 
 
 A H the fhepherd's mournful fate ! 
 
 When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languifh, 
 To bear the fcornful fair one's hate, 
 
 Nor dare difclofe his anguifh ! 
 Yet eager looks, and dying fighs, 
 
 My fecret foul difcover, 
 While rapture trembling through mine eyes, 
 Reveals how much I love her:
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 221 
 
 The tender glance, the red'ning cheek, 
 
 O'erfpread with rifmg blumes, 
 A thoufand various ways they fpeak 
 
 A thoufand various wifhes. 
 For oh ! that form fo heavenly fair, 
 
 Thofe languid eyes fo fweetly fmiling, 
 That artlefs blufli, and modeft air, 
 
 So fatally beguiling. 
 
 Thy every look, and every grace, 
 
 So charm whene'er I view thee ; 
 Till death o'ertake me in the chace, 
 
 Still will my hopes purfue thee. 
 Then when my tedious hours are pad, 
 
 Be this laft blefling given, 
 Low at thy feet to breath my laft, 
 
 And die in fight of heaven. 
 
 Green Sleeves. 
 
 "V" E watchful guardians of the fair, 
 
 Who fkiff on wings of ambient air, 
 Of my dear DELIA take a care, 
 
 And reprefent her lover 
 With all the gaiety of youth, 
 With honour, juftice, love, and truth ; 
 Till I return, her paffions foothe, 
 
 For me in whifpers move her. 
 
 Be careful no bafe fordid (lave, 
 With foul funk in golden grave, 
 T 3
 
 222 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Who knows no virtue but to fave, 
 
 With glaring gold bewitch her. 
 Tell her, for me fhe was defign'd, 
 For me who know how to be kind, 
 And have mair plenty in my mind, 
 Than ane who's ten times richer. 
 
 Let all the warld turn upfide down, 
 
 And fools run an eternal round, 
 
 In queft of what can ne'er be found, 
 
 To pleafe their vain ambition; 
 Let little minds great charms efpy, 
 In fhadows which at diftance ly, 
 Whofe hop'd-for pleafure when come nigh. 
 
 Proves nothing in fruition : 
 
 But call into a mold divine, 
 
 Fair DELIA does with luflre fliine, 
 
 Her virtuous foul's an ample mine, 
 
 Which yields a conflant treafure. 
 Let poets in fublimeil lays, 
 Employ their fkill her fame to raife ; 
 Let fons of mufic pafs whole days, 
 
 With well-tun'd reeds to pleafe her. 
 
 Highland Laddie. 
 
 ^ 1 1 H E lawland lads think they are fine ; 
 But O, they're vain and idly gawdy ! 
 
 How much unlike that gracefu' mein, 
 And manly looks of my highland laddie! 
 O my bonny, bonny higJiland laddie, 
 My handfome, charming highland laddie.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 223 
 
 May heaven ftill guard, and love reward 
 Our lawland lafs, and her highland laddie. 
 
 If I were free at will to chufe, 
 
 To be the wealthiefl lawland lady, 
 I'd take young DONALD without trews, 
 
 With bonnet blew, and belted plaidy. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 The brawefl beau in burrow's-town, 
 
 In a' his airs, with art made ready, 
 Compar'd to him he's but a clown; 
 
 He's finer far in's tartan plaidy. 
 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 O'er benty hill with him I'll run, 
 
 And leave my lawland kin and dady, 
 Frae winter's cauld, and fummer's fun, 
 
 He'll fcreen me with his highland plaidy. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 A painted room, and filken bed, 
 
 May pleafe a lawland laird and lady; 
 But I can kifs and be as glad, 
 
 Behind a bum in's highland plaidy. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 Few compliments between us pafs, 
 
 I ca' him my dear highland laddie, 
 And he ca's me his lawland lafs, 
 
 Syne rows me in beneath his plaidie. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 N T ae greater joy I'll e'er pretend, 
 
 Than that his love prove true and fteady,
 
 224 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Like mine to him, which ne'er fhall end, 
 
 While Heaven preferves my highland laddie. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 H E lawland maids gang trig and fine, 
 But aft they're four and unco fawcy; 
 Sae proud, they never can be kind 
 
 Like my good-humour'd highland laffie. 
 O my bonny, bonny highland laf/le, 
 My hearty fmiling highland laffie, 
 May never care make thee lefs fair, 
 But bloom of youth Jlill blcfs my lajfte. 
 
 Than ony lafs in burrows-town, 
 
 Wha mak their cheeks with patches mottie, 
 I'd take my K A T v butt a gown, 
 
 Bare-footed in her little coatie. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 Beneath the brier or brecken bum, 
 Whene'er I kifs and court my dawtie ; 
 
 Happy and blyth as ane wad wifh, 
 My flighteren heart gangs pittie pattie. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 O'er higheft hethery hills I'll ften, 
 With cockit gun and ratches tenty, 
 
 To drive the deer out of their den, 
 To feaft my lafs on difhes dainty. 
 O my bonny, c. 
 
 There's nane fhall dare by deed or word, 
 'Gainfl her to wag a tongue or ringer,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 225 
 
 While I can wield my tmfty fword, 
 Or frae my fide whifk out a whinger. 
 O my bonny, &c. 
 
 The mountains clad with purple bloom, 
 
 And berries ripe, invite my treafure 
 To range with me; let great fowk gloom, 
 
 While wealth and pride confound their pleafure. 
 O my bonny, bonny highland laffie, 
 My lovely fmiling highland laffie, 
 May never care make thee lefs fair, 
 But bloom of youth ftill blefs my lajfie. 
 
 Had awa frae me, D o N A L D 
 
 C\ COME awa', come awa', 
 
 Come awa' wi' me, JENNY; 
 Sick frowns I canna bear frae ane 
 
 Whafe fmiles ance ravifh'd me, J E N N v ; 
 If you'll be kind, you'll never find 
 
 That ought fall alter me, JENNY; 
 For you're the miftrefs of my mind, 
 
 Whate'er you think of me, JENNY. 
 
 Firfl when your fweets enflav'd my heart, 
 
 You feem'd to favour me, JENNY; 
 But now, alas ! you acl: a part 
 
 That fpeaks unconftancy, JENNY: 
 Unconflancy is fie a vice, 
 
 'Tis not befitting thee, JENNY; 
 It fuits not wi' your virtue nice 
 
 To carry fae to me, JENNY. 
 (15)
 
 226 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Her anfwer. 
 
 f~\ HAD awa', had awa', 
 
 Had awa' frae me, DONALD; 
 Your heart is made o'er large for ane 
 
 It is not meet for me, DONALD. 
 Some fickle miftrefs you may find, 
 
 Will jilt as fafl as thee, DONALD; 
 To ilka fwain me will prove kind, 
 
 And nae lefs kind to thee, DONALD. 
 
 But I've a heart that's naething fuch, 
 
 Tis fill'd with honefty, DONALD; 
 I'll ne'er love money, I'll love much, 
 
 I hate all levity, DONALD. 
 Therefore nae mair, with art, pretend 
 
 Your heart is chain'd to mine, DONALD? 
 For words of falfehood ill defend 
 
 A roving love like thine, DONALD. 
 
 Firft when you courted, I muft own 
 
 I frankly favour'd you, DONALD; 
 Apparent worth and fair renown, 
 
 Made me believe you true, DONALD. 
 Ilk virtue then feem'd to adorn 
 
 The man efteem'd by me, DONALD; 
 But now, the mafic fall'n aff, I fcorn 
 
 To ware a thought on thee, DONALD. 
 
 And now, for ever, had awa', 
 
 Had awa' frae me, DONALD; 
 Gae feek a heart that's like your ain, 
 
 And come nae mair to me, D o N A L r> ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 227 
 
 For I'll referve myfell for ane, 
 
 For ane that's liker me, DONALD; 
 If fick a ane I canna find, 
 
 I'll ne'er loe man, nor thee, DONALD. 
 
 DONALD. 
 
 Then I'm thy man, and falfe report 
 
 Has only tald a lie, JENNY; 
 To try thy truth, and make us fport, 
 
 The tale was rais'd by me, JENNY. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 When this ye prove, and fl.il! can love, 
 
 Then come awa' to me, DONALD; 
 I'm weel content, ne'er to repent 
 
 That I hae fmil'd on thee, DONALD. 
 
 H AY'S bonny Laffie. 
 
 "D Y fmooth-winding Tay a fwain was reclining, 
 Aft cry'd he, Oh hey ! maun I ftill live pining 
 Myfell thus awa, and darna difcover 
 To my bonny HAY that I am her lover? 
 
 Nae mair it will hide, the flame waxes ftronger ; 
 If fhe's not my bride, my days are nae langer; 
 Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture, 
 May be, ere we part, my vows may content her. 
 
 She's frefh as the fpring, and fweet as AURORA, 
 When birds mount andfmg, bidding Day a good morrow;
 
 228 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 The fwaird of the mead, enamell'd with daifies, 
 Looks wither'd and dead when twin'd of her graces. 
 
 But if fhe appear where verdure invites her, 
 The fountains run clear, and flowers fmell the fweeter; 
 'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flowing, 
 Her fmiles and bright eye fet my fpirits a-glowing. 
 
 The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded, 
 Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded, 
 I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to carefs ye, 
 For a' my defire is H AY'S bonny laffie. 
 
 Hap me wi' thy Petticoat. 
 
 (~\ BELL, thy looks ha'e kill'd my heart, 
 I pafs the day in pain; 
 
 When night returns I feel the fmart, 
 And wifh for thee in vain. 
 
 I'm flarving cold, while thou art warm ; 
 Have pity and incline, 
 
 And grant me for a hap that charm- 
 ing petticoat of thine. 
 
 My ravifh'd fancy in amaze 
 
 Still wanders o'er thy charms, 
 Delufive dreams ten thoufand ways 
 
 Prefent thee to my arms. 
 But waking think what I endure, 
 
 While cruel you decline 
 Thofe pleafures, which alone can cure 
 
 This panting breaft of mine.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 229 
 
 I faint, I fail, and wildly rove, 
 
 Becaufe you flill deny 
 The juft reward that's due to love, 
 
 And let true paffion die. 
 Oh ! turn, and let compaflion feize 
 
 That lovely breaft of thine ; 
 Thy petticoat could give me eafe, 
 
 If thou and it were mine. 
 
 Sure Heaven has fitted for delight 
 
 That beauteous form of thine, 
 And thou'rt too good its law to flight, 
 
 By hind'ring the defign. 
 May all the powers of love agree, 
 
 At length to make thee mine ; 
 Or loofe my chains, and fet me free 
 
 From ev'ry charm of thine. 
 
 Happy Clown. 
 
 TJ~ O W happy is the rural clown, 
 
 Who, far remov'd from noife of town, 
 Contemns the glory of a crown, 
 
 And in his fafe retreat, 
 Is pleafed with his low degree, 
 Is rich in decent poverty, 
 From ftrife, from care, and bus'nefs free, 
 
 At once baith good and great ? 
 
 Nae drums difturb his morning fleep, 
 He fears nae danger of the deep, 
 VOL. I. U
 
 230 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Nor noify law, nor courts ne'er heap 
 
 Vexation on his mind ; 
 No trumpets rouze him to the war, 
 No hopes can bribe, no threats can dare ; 
 From flate intrigues he holds afar, 
 
 And liveth unconfin'd. 
 
 Like thofe in golden ages born, 
 He labours gently to adorn 
 His fmall paternal fields of corn, 
 
 And on their product feeds; 
 Each feafon of the wheeling year, 
 Induftrious he improves with care, 
 And ftill some ripen'd fruits appear, 
 
 So well his toil fucceeds. 
 
 Now by a filver ftream he lyes, 
 And angles with his baits and flies, 
 And next the fylvan fcene he tries, 
 
 His fpirits to regal; 
 Now from the rock or height he views 
 His fleecy flock, or teeming cows; 
 Then tunes his reed, or tries his mufe, 
 
 That waits his honeft call. 
 
 Amidft his harmlefs eafy joys, 
 
 No care his peace of mind deftroys, 
 
 Nor does he pafs his time in toys 
 
 Beneath his jufl regard : 
 He's fond to feel the zephyr's breeze, 
 To plant and fned his tender trees ; 
 And for attending well his bees, 
 
 Enjoys their fweet reward.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 231 
 
 The flow'ry meads and filent coves, 
 
 The fcenes of faithful rural loves, 
 
 And warbling birds on blooming groves, 
 
 Afford a wifli'd delight ; 
 But O how pleafant is this life ! 
 Bleft with a chafte and virtuous wife, 
 And children prattling, void of flrife, 
 
 Around his fire at night ! 
 
 Hallow Even. 
 
 "\T7~ H Y hangs that cloud upon thy brow, 
 
 That beauteous heaven erewhile ferene? 
 Whence do thofe florms and tempefts flow? 
 
 Or what this gufl of paffion mean? 
 And mufl then mankind lofe that light, 
 
 Which in thine eyes was wont to fhine. 
 And ly obfcur'd in endlefs night, 
 
 For each poor filly fpeech of mine? 
 
 Dear child, how can I wrong thy name, 
 
 Since its acknowledg'd at all hands, 
 That could ill tongues abufe thy fame, 
 
 Thy beauty could make large amends? 
 Or if I durfl profanely try 
 
 Thy beauty's pow'rful charms t' upbraid, 
 Thy virtue well might give the lye, 
 
 Nor call thy beauty to its aid. 
 
 For Venus, ev'ry heart t' enfnare, 
 
 With all her charms has deck'd thy face ; 
 
 And PALLAS, with unufual care, 
 Bids Wifdom heighten ev'ry grace. 
 U 2
 
 232 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Who can the double pain endure? 
 
 Or who mud not refign the field 
 To thee, celeflial maid, fecure 
 
 With CUPID'S bow, and PALLAS' fliield? 
 
 If then to thee fuch pow'r is given, 
 
 Let not a wretch in torment live, 
 But fmile, and learn to copy Heaven, 
 
 Since we muft fin ere it forgive. 
 But pitying Heaven not only does 
 
 Forgive th' offender and th' offence. 
 But even itfelf, appeas'd beftows, 
 
 As the reward of penitence. 
 
 I'll never leave thee. 
 J o H N Y. 
 
 'T'HO' for feven years and mair honour fliou'd reave me, 
 To fields where cannons rair, thou need na grieve thee; 
 For deep in my fpirits thy fweets are indented, 
 And love fhall preferve ay what love has imprinted. 
 Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, 
 Gang the warld as it will, deareft, believe me. 
 
 NELLY. 
 
 O J o H N Y ! I'm jealous whene'er ye difcover 
 My fentiments yielding, ye'll turn a loofe rover; 
 And nought i' the warld wad vex my heart fairer 
 If you prove unconftant, and fancy ane fairer. 
 Grieve me, grieve me, oh it wad grieve me ! 
 A' the lang night and day, if you deceive me.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 233 
 
 J OHNY. 
 
 My NELLY, let never fick fancies opprefs ye, 
 For while my blood's warm I'll kindly carefs ye : 
 Your blooming faft beauties firft beeted Love's fire, 
 Your virtue and wit make it ay flame the higher. 
 Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee, 
 Gang the warld as it will, dearefl, believe me. 
 
 NELLY. 
 
 Then, J o H N Y , I frankly this minute allow ye 
 To think me your miftrefs, for love gars me trow ye ; 
 And gin you prove fa'fe, to ye'rfell be it faid then ; 
 Ye'll win but fma' honour to wrang a kind maiden. 
 Reave me, reave me, Heav'ns ! it wad reave me 
 Of my reft night and day, if ye deceive me. 
 
 JOHN Y. 
 
 Bid icefhogles hammer red gads on the fluddy, 
 And fair fimmer mornings nae mair appear ruddy ; 
 Bid Britons think ae gait, and when they obey ye, 
 But never till that time believe I'll betray ye. 
 Leave thee, leave thee, I'll never leave thee ; 
 The ftarns mail gang witherfhins e'er I deceive thee. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 f~\ N E day I heard MARY fay, 
 
 How mall I leave thee ? 
 
 Stay, deareft ADONIS, flay, 
 
 Why wilt thou grieve me ?
 
 234 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Alas ! my fond heart will break, 
 
 If thou fhou'd leave me : 
 I'll live and die for thy fake, 
 
 Yet never leave thee. 
 
 Say, lovely ADONIS, fay, 
 
 Has MARY deceiv'd thee ? 
 Did e'er her young heart betray 
 
 New love, that's griev'd thee ? 
 My conftant mind ne'er mail ftray, 
 
 Thou mayft believe me, 
 I love thee, lad, night and day, 
 
 And never leave thee. 
 
 ADONIS, my charming youth, 
 
 What can relieve thee ? 
 Can MARY thy anguifh footh ! 
 
 This breaft fhall receive thee. 
 My paffion can ne'er decay, 
 
 Never deceive thee : 
 Delight fhall drive pain away, 
 
 Pleafure revive thee. 
 
 But leave thee, leave thee, lad, 
 
 How fhall I leave thee? 
 O ! that thought makes me fad, 
 
 I'll never leave thee. 
 Where would my A u o N i s fly? 
 
 Why does he grieve me? 
 Alas ! my poor heart will die, 
 
 If I mould leave thee.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 235 
 
 I wifh my Love were in a Myre. 
 
 TJ L E S T as th' immortal gods is he, 
 The youth who fondly fits by thee, 
 And hears and fees thee all the while 
 Softly fpeak and fweetly fmile ! 
 
 'Twas this bereav'd my foul of reft, 
 And rais'd fuch tumults in my bread; 
 For while I gaz'd in tranfport toft, 
 My breath was gone, my voice was loft : 
 
 My bofom glow'd; the fubtile flame 
 Ran quick through all my vital frame ; 
 O'er my dim eyes a darknefs hung, 
 My ears with hollow murmurs rung : 
 
 In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd, 
 My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd, 
 My feeble pulfe forgot to play, 
 I fainted, funk, and dy'd away. 
 
 J O C K Y blyth and gay. 
 
 "DLYTH JOCKY young and gay, is all my heart's 
 
 delight; 
 He's all my talk by day, and all my dream by night. 
 
 If from the lad I be, it's winter then with me; 
 
 But when he tarries here, it's fummer all the year. 
 
 When I and JOCKY met firft on the flowery dale, 
 Right fweetly he me tret, and love was a' his tale. 
 You are the lafs, faid he, that (law my heart frae me, 
 O eafe me of my pain, and never fhaw difdain.
 
 236 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Well can my J o c K Y kyth his love and courtefie, 
 He made my heart fu' blyth when he firfl fpake to me. 
 His fuit I ill deny'd, he kifs'd, and I comply'd : 
 Sae J o c K Y promis'd me, that he wad faithful be. 
 
 I'm glad when JOCK Y comes, fad when he gangs away; 
 Tis night when JOCK Y glooms, but when he fmiles 'tis day. 
 
 When our eyes meet I pant, I colour, figh, and faint ; 
 
 What lafs that wad be kind can better tell her mind ? 
 
 I'll ne'er love thee more. 
 
 By the great Marquis ^/"MONTROSE. 
 
 Part Firjl. 
 
 TV/I" Y dear and only love, I pray, 
 
 That little world of thee, 
 Be govern'd by no other fway, 
 
 But pureft monarchy : 
 For if confufion have a part, 
 
 Which virtuous fouls abhor, 
 I'll call a fynod in my heart, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 As ALEXANDER I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone, 
 My thoughts did evermore difdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deferts are fmall, 
 Who dares not put it to the touch, 
 
 To grain or lofe it all.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 237 
 
 But I will reign and govern flill, 
 
 And always give the law; 
 And have each fubjecl at my will, 
 
 And all to ftand in awe; 
 But 'gainfl my batt'ries if I find 
 
 Thou florm or vex me fore, 
 And if thou fet me as a blind, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 And in the empire of thy heart, 
 
 Where I mould folely be, 
 If others do pretend a part, 
 
 Or dare to mare with me; 
 Or committees if thou erect, 
 
 Or go on fuch a fcore, 
 I'll, fmiling, mock at thy neglect, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 But if no faithlefs action ftain 
 
 Thy love and conftant word, 
 I'll make thee famous by my pen, 
 
 And glorious by my fword. 
 I'll ferve thee in fuch noble ways, 
 
 As ne'er was known before ; 
 I'll deck and crown thy head with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more. 
 
 Second Part. 
 
 ~JV/T Y dear and only love, take heed, 
 
 Left thou thyfelf expofe ; 
 And let all longing lovers feed 
 Upon fuch looks as thofe.
 
 238 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 A marble wall then build about, 
 
 Befet without a door; 
 But if thou let thy heart fly out, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 Let not their oaths, like vollies mot, 
 
 Make any breach at all, 
 Nor fmoothnefs of their language plot, 
 
 Which way to fcale the wall ; 
 Nor balls of wild-fire love confume 
 
 The fhrine which I adore : 
 For if fuch fmoak about thee fume, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 I think thy virtues be too flrong 
 
 To fuffer by furprife; 
 Which victual'd by my love fo long, 
 
 The fiege at length muft rife; 
 And leave thee ruled in that health 
 
 And ftate thou was before : 
 But if thou turn a common-wealth, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 But if by fraud, or by confent, 
 
 Thy heart to ruin come, 
 I'll found no trumpet, as I wont, 
 
 Nor march by tuck of drum ; 
 But hold my arms, like enfigns up, 
 
 Thy falfehood to deplore, 
 And bitterly will figh and weep, 
 
 And never love thee more. 
 
 I'll do with thee as N E R o did. 
 When Rome was fet on fire ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 239 
 
 Not only all relief forbid, 
 
 But to a hill retire; 
 And fcorn to (hed a tear to fee, 
 
 Thy fpirit grow fo poor; 
 But, fmiling, fmg until I die, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 Yet for the love I bore thee once, 
 
 Left, that thy name mould die, 
 A monument of marble-flone 
 
 The truth (hall teflifie; 
 That every pilgrim paflmg by, 
 
 May pity and deplore 
 My cafe, and read the reafon why 
 
 I can love thee no more. 
 
 The golden laws of love (hall be 
 
 Upon this pillar hung, 
 "A fimple heart, a fingle eye, 
 
 A true and conftant tongue. 
 Let no man for more love pretend 
 
 Than he has hearts in (lore : 
 True love begun (hall never end ; 
 
 Love one and love no more." 
 
 Then (hall thy heart be fet by mine, 
 
 But in far different cafe, 
 For mine was true, fo was not thine, 
 
 But lookt like JANUS' face. 
 For as the waves with every wind, 
 
 So fails thou every fhore, 
 And leaves my conftant heart behind ; 
 
 How can I love thee more?
 
 240 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 My heart fliall with the fun be fixt, 
 
 For conflancy mod ftrange, 
 And thine mall with the moon be mixt, 
 
 Delighting ay in change. 
 Thy beauty fliin'd at firfl mofl bright, 
 
 And woe is me therefor, 
 That e'er I found thy love fo light, 
 
 I could love thee no more. 
 
 The mifty mountains, fmoaking lakes, 
 
 The rocks refounding echo; 
 The whiflling wind that murmur makes, 
 
 Shall all with me fing hey ho. 
 The toffmg feas, the tumbling boats, 
 
 Tears dropping from each fhore, 
 Shall tune with me their turtle notes, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 As doth the turtle chafle and true 
 
 Her fellow's death regrete, 
 And daily mourns for his adieu, 
 
 And ne'er renews her mate; 
 So, though thy faith was never fa ft, 
 
 Which grieves me wond'rous fore, 
 Yet I fliall live in love fo chafle, 
 
 That I fhall love no more. 
 
 And when all gallants ride about 
 
 Thefe monuments to view, 
 Whereon is written in and out, 
 
 "Thou trait'rous and untrue;" 
 Then in a paflion they fliall paufe, 
 
 And thus fay, fighing fore,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 241 
 
 Alas ! he had too juft a caufe 
 Never to love thee more. 
 
 And when that tracing goddefs FAME 
 
 From eaft to weft mall flee, 
 She mall record it to thy mame, 
 
 How thou haft loved me ; 
 And how in odds our love was fuch 
 
 As few has been before; 
 Thou lov'd too many, I too much. 
 
 That I can love no more. 
 
 I fixt my Fancy on her. 
 
 t>RiG HTCYNTHIA'S power divinely great, 
 
 What heart is not obeying? 
 A thoufand CUPIDS on her wait, 
 
 And in her eyes are playing. 
 She feems the queen of love to reign ; 
 
 For me alone difpenfes 
 Such fweets as beft can entertain 
 
 The guft of all the fenfes. 
 
 Her face a charming profpect brings, 
 
 Her breath gives balmy bliffes; 
 I hear an angel when (he fmgs, 
 
 And tafte of heav'n in kiffes. 
 Four fenfes thus (he feafts with joy, 
 
 From Nature's richeft treafure; 
 Let me the other fenfe employ, 
 
 And I (hall die with pleafure. 
 VOL. I. (16) X
 
 242 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 I'll gar ye be fain to follow me. 
 
 HE. 
 
 ADIEU, for a while, my native green plains, 
 
 My nearefl relations, my neighbouring fwains, 
 Dear NELLY, frae thofe I'd Hart eafily free, 
 Were minutes not ages, while abfent frae thee. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Then tell me the reafon, thou dofl not obey 
 The pleadings of love, but thus hurry away? 
 Alake ! thou deceiver, o'er plainly I fee, 
 A lover fae roving will never mind me. 
 
 H E, 
 
 The reafon unhappy is owing to fate, 
 That gave me a being without en eftate, 
 Which lays a neceffity now upon me, 
 To purchafe a fortune for pleafure to thee. 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Small fortune may ferve where love has the fway, 
 Then J o N N Y be counfel'd na langer to ftray : 
 For while thou proves conflant in kindnefs to me, 
 Contented I'll ay find a treafure in thee. 
 
 H E 
 
 O ceafe, my dear charmer, elfe foon I'll betray 
 A weaknefs unmanly, and quickly give way 
 To fondnefs, which may prove a ruin to thee. 
 A pain to us baith, and dimonour to me.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 243 
 
 Bear witnefs, ye flreams, and witnefs, ye flowers, 
 Bear witnefs, ye watchful invifible powers, 
 If ever my heart be unfaithful to thee, 
 May naething propitious e'er fmile upon me. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON myj o. 
 
 I S not your beauty nor your wit, 
 
 That can my heart obtain ; 
 For they could never conquer yet 
 
 Either my breaft or brain ; 
 For if you'll not prove kind to me, 
 
 And true as heretofore, 
 Henceforth your flave I'll fcorn to be. 
 Nor doat upon you more. 
 
 Think not my fancy to o'ercome, 
 
 By proving thus unkind ; 
 No fmoothed figh, nor fmiling frown, 
 
 Can fatisfy my mind. 
 Pray let Platonics play such pranks, 
 
 Such follies I deride ; 
 For love at lead I will have thanks, 
 
 And fomething elfe befide. 
 
 Then open-hearted be with me, 
 
 As I (hall be with you, 
 And let your actions be as free 
 
 As virtue will allow. 
 If you'll prove loving. I'll prove kind : 
 
 If true, I'll conftant be : 
 
 X 2
 
 244 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 If Fortune chance to change your mind, 
 I'll turn as foon as ye. 
 
 Since our affections well ye know 
 
 In equal terms do ftand, 
 'Tis in your pow'r to love or no, 
 
 Mine's likewife in my hand. 
 Difpenfe with your aufterity, 
 
 Inconftancy abhor, 
 Or, by great CUPID'S deity, 
 
 I'll never love you more. 
 
 J O C K V and J E N N Y. 
 
 J o c K v. 
 
 \\T HEN J o c K Y was blefs'd with your love and 
 
 your truth, 
 
 Not on Tweed's pleafant banks dwelt fo blythfome a youth; 
 With JENNY I fported it all the day long, 
 And her name was the burden and joy of my fong. 
 And her name was the burden and joy of my fong. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 Ere J o c K Y had ceas'd all his kindnefs to me, 
 There liv'd in a vale not fo happy a flic: 
 Such pleafures with J o c K Y his JENNY had known, 
 That fhe fcorn'd in a cote the fine folks of the town. 
 
 J o c K Y. 
 
 Ah ! J o c K Y , what fear now poffeffes thy mind, 
 That J E N N Y fo conftant, to YV I L i. v's been kind !
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 245 
 
 When dancing fo gay with the nymphs on the plain, 
 She yielded her hand and her heart to the fwain. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 You falfely upbraid, ---but remember the day 
 With LUCY you toy'd it beneath the new hay ; 
 When alone with your LUCY, the fhepherds have faid, 
 You forgot all the vows that to J E N N Y you made. 
 
 J o c K Y . 
 
 Believe not, fweet JENNY, my heart ftray'd from thee, 
 For LUCY the wanton's a maid ilill for me : 
 From a lafs that's fo true your fond J o c K Y ne'er rov'd, 
 Nor once could forfake the kind J E N N Y he lov'd. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 My heart for young WILLY ne'er panted nor figh'd ; 
 For you of that heart was the joy and the pride. 
 While Tweed's waters glide, mail your J E N N Y be true, 
 Nor love, my dear J o c K Y, a fhepherd like you. 
 
 Joe K Y. 
 
 No fhepherd e'er met with fo faithful a fair; 
 For kindnefs no youth can with J o c K Y compare. 
 We'll love then, and live from fierce jealoufy free, 
 And none on the plain fhall be happy as we. 
 
 KATHARINE OG i E. 
 
 A S walking forth to view the plain, 
 Upon a morning early, 
 X *
 
 246 SCOTS SONGS, 
 
 While May's fweet fcent did chear my brain, 
 From flow'rs which grew fo rarely: 
 
 I chanc'd to meet a pretty maid, 
 She fhin'd though it was foggy : 
 
 I afk'd her name : Sweet Sir, (lie faid, 
 My name is KATHARINE OGIE. 
 
 I flood a while, and did admire, 
 
 To fee a nymph fo ftately; 
 So brifk an air there did appear, 
 
 In a country-maid fo neatly : 
 Such natural fweetnefs fhe difplay'd, 
 
 Like a lillie in a bogie; 
 DIANA'S felf was ne'er array'd 
 
 Like this fame KATHARINE OGIE. 
 
 Thou flow'r of females, Beauty's queen, 
 
 Who fees thee fure muft prize thee; 
 Though thou art dreft in robes but mean. 
 
 Yet thefe cannot difguife thee; 
 Thy handfome air and graceful look, 
 
 Far excells any clownifh rogie; 
 Thou'rt match for laird, or lord, or duke, 
 
 My charming KATHARINE OGIE. 
 
 O were I but a fhepherd fwain ! 
 
 To feed my flock befide thee, 
 At boughting time to leave the plain, 
 
 In milking to abide thee; 
 I'd think myfelf a happier man, 
 
 With KATE, my club, and dogie, 
 Than he that hugs his thoufands ten, 
 
 Had I but K A T H A R i N v. OGIE.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 247 
 
 Then I'd defpife th' imperial throne, 
 
 And ftatefmen's dangerous Rations : 
 I'd be no king, I'd wear no crown, 
 
 I'd fmile at conqu'ring nations : 
 Might I carefs and ftill poffefs 
 
 This lafs of whom I'm vogie; 
 For thefe are toys, and flill look lefs, 
 
 Compar'd with KATHARINE OGIE. 
 
 But I fear the gods have not decreed 
 
 For me fo fine a creature, 
 Whofe beauty rare makes her exceed 
 
 All other works in nature. 
 Clouds of defpair furround my love, 
 
 That are both dark and foggy : 
 Pity my cafe, ye powers above, 
 
 Elfe I die for KATHARINE OGIE. 
 
 Kind ROBIN lo's me. 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 H I L S T I alone your foul poffeft, 
 And none more lov'd your bofom preft, 
 Ye gods, what king like me was bleft, 
 
 When kind JENNY lo'ed me ! 
 Hey ho, JENNY, quoth he, 
 Kind ROBIN Ides thee. 
 
 J E A N Y. 
 
 Whilft you ador'd no other fair, 
 Nor KATE with me your heart did fhare,
 
 248 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 What queen with JENNY cou'd compare, 
 
 When kind ROBIN lo'ed me ! 
 Hey ho, ROBIN, &c. 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 K A T Y now commands my heart, 
 KATE who fmgs with fo much art, 
 Whofe life to fave with mine I'd part; 
 
 For kind K A T Y lo'es me. 
 Hey ho, JENNY, &c. 
 
 J E A N Y. 
 
 P A T i E now delights mine eyes, 
 He with equal ardour dies, 
 Whofe life to fave I'd perifh twice; 
 
 For kind P A T i E lo'es me. 
 Hey /to, ROBIN, &c. 
 
 ROBIN. 
 
 What if I K A T E for thee difdain, 
 And former love return again, 
 To link us in the ftrongeft chain; 
 
 For kind ROBIN lo'es thee. 
 Hey ho, JENNY, ere. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 Though P A T i E ' s kind, as kind can be, 
 And thou more ftormy than the fea, 
 I'd chufe to live and die with thee, 
 If kind ROBIN lo's me. 
 Hey ho, ROBIN, &--c.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 249 
 
 Laft Time I came o'er the Muir. 
 
 f I ^ H E lad time I came o'er the muir, 
 
 I left my love behind me ! 
 Ye powers ! what pain do I endure, 
 
 When foft ideas mind me? 
 Soon as the ruddy morn difplay'd 
 
 The beaming day enfuing, 
 I met betimes my lovely maid, 
 
 In fit retreats for wooing. 
 
 Beneath the cooling fhade we lay, 
 
 Gazing and chaftely fporting; 
 We kifs'd and promis'd time away, 
 
 Till Night fpread her black curtain. 
 I pitied all beneath the fkies, 
 
 Ev'n kings, when me was nigh me; 
 In raptures I beheld her eyes, 
 
 Which cou'd but ill deny me. 
 
 Shou'd I be call'd where cannons roar, 
 
 Where mortal fteel may wound me, 
 Or caft upon fome foreign more, 
 
 Where dangers may furround me : 
 Yet hopes again to fee my love, 
 
 To feaft on glowing kiffes, 
 Shall make my care at diftance move, 
 
 In profpe6l of fuch bliffes. 
 
 In all my foul there's not one place 
 
 To let a rival enter; 
 Since fhe excels in ev'ry grace, 
 
 In her my love mail center.
 
 250 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Sooner the feas fliall ceafe to flow, 
 Their waves the Alps fhall cover, 
 
 On Greenland-ice fhall rofes grow, 
 Before I ceafe to love her. 
 
 The next time I gang o'er the muir, 
 
 She fhall a lover find me; 
 And that my faith is firm and pure, 
 
 Tho' I left her behind me : 
 Then HYMEN'S facred bonds fhall chain 
 
 My heart to her fair bofom; 
 There, while my being does remain, 
 
 My love more frefh fhall bloffom. 
 
 Logan Water. 
 
 T^ O R ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove, 
 
 An unrelenting foe to love; 
 And when we meet a mutual heart, 
 Come in between, and bid us part; 
 
 Bid us figh on from day to day, 
 And wifh, and wifh the foul away, 
 Till youth and genial years are flown, 
 And all the life of life is gone? 
 
 But bufy, bufy ftill art thou, 
 To bind the lovelefs, joylefs vow, 
 The heart from pleafure to delude, 
 And join the gentle to the rude. 
 
 For once, O Fortune, hear my pray'r, 
 And I abfolve thy future care; 
 All other wifhes I refign, 
 Make but the dear AMANDA mine.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 251 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 ELL me, H A M i L L A, tell me why 
 Thou dofl from him that loves thee run? 
 Why from his foft embraces fly, 
 
 And all his kind endearments fhun? 
 So flies the fawn, with fear oppreft, 
 Seeking its mother every where, 
 It ftarts at ev'ry empty blaft, 
 
 And trembles when no danger's near. 
 
 And yet I keep thee but in view, 
 
 To gaze the glories of thy face ; 
 Nor with a hateful ftep purfue, 
 
 As age, to rifle every grace. 
 Ceafe then, dear Wildnefs, ceafe to toy, 
 
 But hafte all rivals to outfhine, 
 And, grown mature and ripe for joy, 
 
 Leave Mamma's arms, and come to mine. 
 
 Leader Haughs. 
 
 TT7" HEN PHOEBUS bright the azure fkies 
 
 With golden rays enlight'neth, 
 He makes all Nature's beauties rife, 
 
 Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick'neth : 
 Amongft all thofe he makes his choice, 
 
 And with delight goes thorough, 
 With radiant beams and filver ftreams 
 
 O'er Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 When ARIES the day and night 
 In equal length divideth,
 
 252 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 And frofly SATURN takes his flight, 
 
 Nae langer he abideth ; 
 Then FLORA Queen, with mantle green, 
 
 Cafls aff her former forrow, 
 And vows to dwell with CERES' fell, 
 
 In Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 PAN playing on his aiten reed, 
 
 And fhepherds him attending, 
 Do here refort their flocks to feed, 
 
 The hills and haughs commending; 
 With cur and kent upon the bent, 
 
 Sing to the fun good-morrow, 
 And fwear nae fields mair pleafures yield 
 
 Than Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 An houfe there (lands on Leader-fide, 
 
 Surmounting my defcriving, 
 With rooms fae rare, and windows fair, 
 
 Like D E D A L u s ' contriving ; 
 Men paffmg by, do aften cry, 
 
 In footh it hath no marrow; 
 It ftands as fweet on Leader-fide, 
 
 As Newark does on Yarrow. 
 
 A mile below wha lifts to ride, 
 
 They'll hear the mavis finging ; 
 Into St LEONARD'S banks fhe'll bide, 
 
 Sweet birks her head o'erhinging ; 
 The lintwhite loud and Progne proud, 
 
 With tuneful throats and narrow, 
 Into St LEONARD'S banks they fmg 
 
 As fweetly as in Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 253 
 
 The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee, 
 
 With nimble wings me fporteth ; 
 But vows me'll flee far from the tree 
 
 Where Philomel reforteth : 
 By break of day the lark can fay, 
 
 I'll bid you a good-morrow, 
 I'll ftretch my wing, and mounting, fing 
 
 O'er Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 Park, Wantonwaws, and Woodencleugh, 
 
 The Eaft and Weftern Mainfes, 
 The wood of Lauder's fair enough, 
 
 The corns are good in Blainfhes ; 
 Where aits are fine, and fold by kind, 
 
 That if ye fearch all thorough, 
 Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 
 
 Than Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 In Burnmill Bog, and Whiteflade Shaws, 
 
 The fearful hare fhe haunteth ; 
 Brighaugh and Braidwoodfhiel fhe knaws, 
 
 And Chapel-wood frequenteth ; 
 Yet when fhe irks, to Kaidfly birks 
 
 She rins, and fighs for forrow, 
 That fhe mould leave fweet Leader-haughs, 
 
 And cannot win to Yarrow. 
 
 What fweeter mufic wad ye hear, 
 
 Than hounds and beigles crying ? 
 The ftarted hare rins hard with fear, 
 
 Upon her fpeed relying : 
 But yet her ftrength it fails at length, 
 
 Nae bidding can fhe borrow 
 
 VOL. T. Y
 
 254 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 In Sorrel's fields, Cleckman, or Hags, 
 And fighs to be in Yarrow. 
 
 For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spotty, Shag, 
 
 With fight, and fcent purfue her, 
 Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag, 
 
 Nae cunning can refcue her : 
 O'er dub and dyke, o'er feugh and fyke 
 
 She'll rin the fields all thorough, 
 Till fail'd, (he fa's in Leader-haughs, 
 
 And bids farewell to Yarrow. 
 
 Sing Erflington and Cowdenknows, 
 
 Where Homes had anes commanding ; 
 And Drygrange with the milk-white ews, 
 
 'Twixt Tweed and Leader Handing : 
 The birds that flee throw Redpath trees, 
 
 And Gledfwood banks ilk morrow, 
 May chant and fing fweet Leader-haughs, 
 
 And bonny howms of Yarrow. 
 
 But Minflrel-burn cannot affuage 
 
 His grief while life endureth, 
 To fee the changes of this age, 
 
 That fleeting time procureth : 
 For mony a place flands in hard cafe, 
 
 Where blyth fowk kend nae forrow, 
 With Homes that dwelt on Leader-fide, 
 
 And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 H E morn was fair, faft was the air, 
 All nature's fwccts were fpringing :
 
 SCOTS SON G.S. 255 
 
 The buds did bow with filver dew, 
 
 Ten thoufand birds were fmging; 
 When on the bent, with blyth content, 
 
 Young JAM IE fang his marrow. 
 Ne'er bonnier lafs e'er trod the grafs 
 
 On Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 How fweet her face, where every grace 
 
 In heavenly beauty's planted ; 
 Her milling een, and comely mein, 
 
 That nae perfection wanted ! 
 I'll never fret, nor bane my fate, 
 
 But blefs my bonny marrow : 
 If her dear fmile my doubts beguile, 
 
 My mind mall ken nae forrow. 
 
 Yet tho' fhe's fair, and has full mare 
 
 Of every charm inchanting, 
 Each good turns ill, and foon will kill 
 
 Poor me, if love be wanting. 
 O bonny lafs ! have but the grace 
 
 To think e'er ye gae further, 
 Your joys maun flit, if you commit 
 
 The crying fin of murder. 
 
 My wand'ring ghaift will ne'er get reft, 
 
 And night and day affright ye ; 
 But if ye're kind, with joyful mind 
 
 I'll ftudy to delight ye ; 
 Our years around with love thus crown'd, 
 
 From all things joy fhall borrow: 
 Thus none fhall be more blefl than we, 
 
 On Leader-haughs and Yarrow. 
 Y 2
 
 256 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 O fweeteft SUE! 'tis only you 
 
 Can make life worth my wifhes, 
 If equal love your mind can move 
 
 To grant this bed of bliffes. 
 Thou art my fun, and thy leafl frown 
 
 Would blaft me in the bloffom ; 
 But if thou mine, and make me thine, 
 
 I'll flourifh in thy bofom. 
 
 Lochaber no more. 
 
 PP A R E w E L L to Lochaber, and farewell, my JEAN, 
 Where heartfome with thee I have mony day been ; 
 For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 
 We'll may be return to Lochaber no more. 
 Thefe tears that I med they are a' for my dear, 
 And no for the dangers attending on weir; 
 Tho' bore on rough feas to a far bloody more, 
 May be to return to Lochaber no more. 
 
 Tho' hurricanes rife, and raife every wind, 
 They'll ne'er make a tempeft like that in my mind ; 
 Tho' loudeft of thunder on louder waves roar, 
 That's naething like leaving my love on the more. 
 To leave thee behind me, my heart is fair pain'd ; 
 By eafe that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd ; 
 And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, 
 And I maun deferve it before I can crave. 
 
 Then glory, my J F, A x v, maun plead my excufe; 
 Since honour commands me, how can I refufc?
 
 SCOTS SO N G S. 257 
 
 Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, 
 And without thy favour I'd better not be. 
 I gae then, my lafs, to win honour and fame, 
 And if I mould luck to come glorioufly hame, 
 I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, 
 And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. 
 
 Love is the caufe of my mourning. 
 
 T> Y a murmuring ftream a fair fhepherdefs lay, 
 
 Be fo kind, O ye nymphs, I oft-times heard her fay, 
 Tell S T R E P H o N I die, if he paffes this way, 
 And that love is the caufe of my mourning. 
 
 Falfe fhepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms, 
 You deceive me, for STREPHON'S cold heart never 
 
 warms; 
 
 Yet bring me this S T R E P H o N , let me die in his arms, 
 Oh S T R E P H o N ! the caufe of my mourning. 
 
 But firft, faid me, let me go down to the fhades below, 
 Ere ye let S T R E P H o N know that I have lov'd him fo ; 
 Then on my pale cheek no blufhes will mow, 
 That love was the caufe of my mourning. 
 
 Her eyes were fcarce clofed when S T R E P H o N came by ; 
 He thought fhe'd been fleeping, and foftly drew nigh : 
 But finding her breathlefs, O heavens ! did he cry, 
 Ah C H L o R i s ! the caufe of my mourning. 
 
 Reftore me my C H L o R i s , ye nymphs, ufe your art. 
 They, fighing, reply'd, Twas your eyes mot the dart, 
 That wounded the tender young fhepherdefs' heart, 
 And kiird the poor C H L o R I s with mourning. 
 Y 3
 
 258 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Ah then is C H L o R i s dead, wounded by me ! he faid ; 
 I'll follow thee, chafle maid, down to the filent made. 
 Then on her cold fnowy breafl leaning his head, 
 Expired the poor STREPHON with mourning. 
 
 Lack of Gold. 
 
 P O R the lack of gold (he's left me, 
 And of all that's dear bereft me : 
 She me forfook for a great duke, 
 
 And to endlefs woes fhe's left me. 
 A ftar and garter have more art 
 Than youth, a true and faithful heart ; 
 For empty titles we muft part, 
 
 And for glitt'ring mow fhe's left me. 
 
 No cruel fair mall e'er more move 
 My injur'd heart again to love ; 
 Thro' diftant climates I muft rove, 
 
 Since J E A N Y fhe has left me. 
 Ye Powers above, I to your care 
 Give up my charming lovely fair ; 
 Your choiceft bleffings be her mare, 
 
 Tho' file's for ever left me. 
 
 Lafs of Livingfton. 
 
 T) A i N'D with her flighting JAMIE'S love, 
 
 BELL dropt a tear---B E L L dropt a tear, 
 The gods defcended from above, 
 
 Well pleas'd to hear---well pleas'd to hear;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 259 
 
 They heard the praifes of the youth, 
 
 From her own tongue ---from her own tongue, 
 
 Who now converted was to truth, 
 
 And thus me fung---and thus me fung : 
 
 Blefs'd days ! when our ingenious fex, 
 
 More frank and kind more frank and kind, 
 Did not their lov'd adorers vex, 
 
 But fpoke their mind but fpoke their mind. 
 Repenting now, me promis'd fair, 
 
 Would he return -would he return, 
 She ne'er again would give him care, 
 
 Or caufe him mourn or caufe him mourn. 
 
 Why lov'd I thee, deferving fwain, 
 
 Yet ftill thought fhame -yet ftill thought (hame, 
 When he my yielding heart did gain, 
 
 To own my flameto own my flame? 
 Why took I pleafure to torment, 
 
 And feem too coy and feem too coy? 
 Which makes me now, alas ! lament 
 
 My flighted joy, ---my flighted joy. 
 
 Ye fair, while beauty's in its fpring, 
 
 Own your defireown your defire ; 
 While Love's young power, with his foft wing, 
 
 Fans up the fire- fans up the fire. 
 Oh ! do not with a filly pride, 
 
 Or low defign or low defign, 
 Refufe to be a happy bride, 
 
 But anfwer plain- but anfwer plain. 
 
 Thus the fair mourner wail'd her crime, 
 With flowing eyes ---with flowing eyes ;
 
 260 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Glad JAMIE heard her all the time, 
 
 With fweet furprize---with fweet furprize. 
 
 Some god had led him to the grove, 
 
 His mind unchang'd---his mind unchang'd, 
 
 Flew to her arms, and cry'd, My love, 
 I am reveng'd---! am reveng'd. 
 
 MARY SCOTT. 
 
 "LT A P P Y's the love which meets return, 
 When in foft flames fouls equal burn ; 
 But words are wanting to difcover 
 The torments of a hopelefs lover. 
 Ye regifters of Heav'n, relate, 
 If looking o'er the rolls of Fate, 
 Did you there fee me mark'd to marrow 
 MARY SCOT the flower of Yarrow. 
 
 Ah no ! her form's too heav'nly fair, 
 Her love the gods above muft fhare ; 
 While mortals with defpair explore her, 
 And at diftance due adore her. 
 O lovely maid ! my doubts beguile, 
 Revive and blefs me with a fmile : 
 Alas ! if not, you'll foon debar a 
 Sighing fwain the banks of Yarrow. 
 
 Be hufh, ye fears, I'll not defpair 
 My M A R Y'S tender as {he's fair ; 
 Then I'll go tell her all mine anguifli, 
 She is too good to let me languifh :
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 261 
 
 With fuccefs crown'd, I'll not envy 
 The folks who dwell above the fky; 
 When MARY SCOT'S become my marrow, 
 We'll make a paradife in Yarrow. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 > f I ^ WAS fummer, and the day was fair, 
 
 Refolv'd a while to fly from care, 
 Beguiling thought, forgetting forrow, 
 I wander o'er the braes of Yarrow; 
 Till then defpifing beauty's power, 
 I kept my heart, my own fecure; 
 But CUPID'S art did there deceive me, 
 And MARY'S charms do now enflave me. 
 
 Will cruel love no bribe receive? 
 No ranfom take for MARY'S flave? 
 Her frowns of reft and hope deprive me ; 
 Her lovely fmiles like light revive me. 
 No bondage may with mine compare, 
 Since firft I faw this charming fair : 
 This beauteous flower, this rofe of Yarrow, 
 In Nature's garden has no marrow. 
 
 Had I of Heaven but one requefl, 
 I'd afk to ly in MARY'S bread; 
 There would I live or die with pleafure, 
 Nor fpare this world one moment's leifure ; 
 Defpifing kings and all that's great, 
 I'd fmile at courts and courtier's fate ; 
 My joy compleat on fuch a marrow, 
 I'd dwell with her, and live on Yarrow.
 
 262 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 But tho' fuch blifs I ne'er fhould gain, 
 Contented flill I'll wear my chain, 
 In hopes my faithful heart may move her; 
 For leaving life I'll always love her. 
 What doubts diftra6l a lover's mind? 
 That breaft, all foftnefs, muft prove kind ; 
 And me mall yet become my marrow, 
 The lovely beauteous rofe of Yarrow. 
 
 The Mill, Mill O. 
 
 ~Q E N E A T H a green made I fand a fair maid, 
 
 Was fleeping found and ftill---O ; 
 A' lowan wi' love, my fancy did rove 
 
 Around her wi' good will -O : 
 Her bofom I preil ; but funk in her reft, 
 
 She ftir'dna my joy to fpill---O ; 
 While kindly me flept, clofe to her I crept, 
 
 And kifs'd, and kifs'd her my fill--O. 
 
 Oblig'd by command in Flanders to land, 
 
 T' employ my courage and fkill -O, 
 Frae her quietly I flaw, hoift fails and awa, 
 
 For the wind blew fair on the bill -O. 
 Twa years brought me hame, where loud-fraifmg fame 
 
 Tald me with a voice right fhrill---O, 
 My lafs, like a fool, had mounted the ftool, 
 
 Nor kend wha had done her the ill---O. 
 
 Mair fond of her charms, with my fon in her arms, 
 
 I ferlying fpeir'd how flie fell---O. 
 Wi' the tear in her eye, quoth me, Let me die, 
 
 Sweet Sir, gin I can tell---O.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 263 
 
 Love gave the command, I took her by the hand, 
 
 And bade her a' fears expel O, 
 And nae mair look wan, for I was the man 
 
 ^Vha had done her the deed myfel---O. 
 
 My bonny fweet lafs, on the gowany grafs, 
 
 Beneath the Shilling-hill O, 
 If I did offence, I'fe make ye amends 
 
 Before I leave P EGGY'S mill -O. 
 O the mill, mill O, and the kill, kill O, 
 
 And the coggin of the wheel -O ; 
 The fack and the fieve, a' that ye maun leave, 
 
 And round with a fodger reel -O. 
 
 My Deary an' thou die. 
 
 T O V E never more mail give me pain, 
 
 My fancy's fix'd on thee ; 
 Nor ever maid my heart mail gain, 
 
 My PEGGY, if thou die. 
 Thy beauties did fuch pleafure give, 
 
 Thy love's fo true to me, 
 Without thee I mail never live, 
 
 My deary, if thou die. 
 
 If fate mail tear thee from my breaft, 
 
 How mail I lonely dray? 
 In dreary dreams the night I'll wafle, 
 
 In fighs the filent day. 
 I ne'er can fo much virtue find, 
 
 Nor fuch perfection fee : 
 Then I'll renounce all womankind, 
 
 My PEGGY, after thee.
 
 264 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 No new-blown beauty fires my heart 
 
 With CUPID'S raving rage, 
 But thine which can fuch fweets impart, 
 
 Muft all the world engage. 
 'Twas this that like the morning fun 
 
 Gave joy and life to me : 
 And when its deilin'd day is done, 
 
 With P E G G Y let me die. 
 
 Ye powers that fmile on virtuous love, 
 
 And in fuch pleafure mare; 
 You who its faithful flames approve, 
 
 With pity view the fair. 
 Reftore my P E GG Y'S wonted charms, 
 
 Thofe charms fo dear to me; 
 Oh ! never rob me from thofe arms : 
 
 I'm loft if P E G G Y die. 
 
 N ANN Y---O. 
 
 TT7" H I L E fome for pleafure pawn their health, 
 
 'Twixt Lais and the Bagnio, 
 I'll fave myfell, and without Health, 
 Kifs and carefs my N A N N Y---O. 
 
 She bids more fair t' engage a Jove, 
 Than L E D A did, or D A N A E---O : 
 
 Were I to paint the queen of Love, 
 None elfe mould fit but N A N N Y---O. 
 
 How joyfully my fpirits rife, 
 
 When dancing me moves finely ---O ! 
 
 1 guefs what heaven is by her eyes, 
 Which fparkle fo divinely ---O.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 265 
 
 Attend my vow, ye gods, while I 
 
 Breathe in the blefl Britannia, 
 None's happinefs I fhall envy, 
 
 As lang's ye grant me N A N N Y O. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 My bonny, bonny N A N N Y--- O, 
 My lovely charming N A N N Y--- O! 
 
 I care not though the world know 
 How dearly I love N A N N \O. 
 
 Omnia vincit amor. 
 
 A S I went forth to view the fpring, 
 
 Which FLORA had adorned 
 In raiment fair; now every thing 
 
 The rage of winter fcorned ; 
 I caft mine eye, and did efpy 
 
 A youth, who made great clamor; 
 And drawing nigh, I heard him cry, 
 Ah ! omnia vincit amor. 
 
 Upon his breaft he lay along, 
 
 Hard by a murm'ring river, 
 And mournfully his doleful fong 
 
 With fighs he did deliver; 
 Ah ! J E A N Y 's face has comely grace, 
 
 Her locks that mine like lammer, 
 With burning rays have cut my days; 
 
 For omnia vincit amor. 
 
 VOL. I. Z
 
 266 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Her glancy een like comets fheen, 
 
 The morning fun outfliining, 
 Have caught my heart in CUPID'S net, 
 
 And make me die with pining, 
 Durfl I complain, Nature's to blame, 
 
 So curioufly to frame her, 
 Whofe beauties rare make me, with care, 
 
 Cry, omnia vincit amor. 
 
 Ye cryftal dreams that fwiftly glide, 
 
 Be partners of my mourning, 
 Ye fragrant fields and meadows wide, 
 
 Condemn her for her fcorning; 
 Let every tree a witnefs be, 
 
 How juftly I may blame her; 
 Ye chanting birds, note thefe my words, 
 
 Ah ! omnia vinrit amor. 
 
 Had me been kind as flie was fair, 
 
 She long had been admired, 
 And been ador'd for virtues rare, 
 
 Wh' of life now makes me tired. 
 Thus faid, his breath began to fail, 
 
 He could not fpeak, but ftammer ; 
 He figh'd full fore, and faid no more, 
 
 But omnia vinrit amor. 
 
 When I obferv'd him near to death, 
 
 I run in hafle to fave him, 
 But quickly he refign'd his breath, 
 
 So deep the wound love gave him. 
 Now for her fake this vow I'll make, 
 
 My tongue fliall ay defame her, 
 While on his herfe I'll write this verfe, 
 
 Ah ! omnia vinrit amor.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 267 
 
 Straight I confider'd in my mind 
 
 Upon the matter rightly, 
 And found, though C u P i D he be blind, 
 
 He proves in pith moft mighty. 
 For warlike MARS, and thund'ring JOVE, 
 
 And VULCAN with his hammer, 
 Did ever prove the flaves of love ; 
 
 For omnia vincit amor. 
 
 Hence we may fee th' effects of love, 
 
 Which gods and men keep under, 
 That nothing can his bonds remove, 
 
 Or torments break afunder : 
 Nor wife nor fool need go to fchool 
 
 To learn this from his grammar; 
 His heart's the book where he's to look 
 
 For omnia vincit amor. 
 
 O'er Bogie. 
 
 T W I L L awa' wi 1 my love, 
 
 I will awd wi 1 her, 
 Thd a! my kin hadfworn and f aid, 
 
 Pit o'er Bogie wi' her. 
 If I can get but her confent, 
 
 I dinna care a ftrae; 
 Though ilka ane be difcontent, 
 Awa' wi' her I'll gae. 
 / will awd ', &c. 
 
 Z2
 
 268 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 For now, fhe's miflrefs of my heart, 
 
 And wordy of my hand, 
 And well I wat we manna part 
 
 For filler or for land. 
 Let rakes delyte to fwear and drink, 
 
 And beaus admire fine lace, 
 But my chief pleafure is to blink 
 
 On BETTY'S bonny face. 
 I will awa\ &c. 
 
 There a' the beauties do combine, 
 
 Of colour, treats, and air, 
 The faul that fparkles in her een 
 
 Makes her a jewel rare; 
 Her flowing wit gives mining life 
 
 To a' her other charms; 
 How blefs'd I'll be when (he's my wife, 
 
 And lock'd up in my arms ! 
 I ivill awcH, &c. 
 
 There blythly will I rant and fmg, 
 
 While o'er her fweets I range, 
 I'll cry, Your humble fervant, king, 
 
 Shame fa' them that wad change. 
 A kifs of B E T T Y and a fmile, 
 
 Abeit ye wad lay down 
 The right ye hae to Britain's ifle 
 
 And offer me your crown. 
 / will awa\ &c.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 269 
 
 Pinky Houfe. 
 
 "D Y Pinky Houfe oft let me walk, 
 
 While circled in my arms, 
 I hear my N E L L Y fweetly talk; 
 
 And gaze o'er all her charms; 
 O let me ever fond behold 
 
 Thofe graces void of art ! 
 Thofe chearful fmiles that fweetly hold 
 
 In willing chains my heart ! 
 
 O come, my Love ! and bring a-new 
 
 That gentle turn of mind ; 
 That gracefulnefs of air, in you, 
 
 By Nature's hand defign'd; 
 What beauty, like the blufhing rofe, 
 
 Firft lighted up this flame ; 
 Which, like the fun, for ever glows 
 
 Within my breaft the fame ! 
 
 Ye light coquets ! ye airy things ! 
 
 How vain is all your art ! 
 How feldom it a lover brings? 
 
 How rarely keeps a heart ! 
 O gather from my NELLY'S charms, 
 
 That fweet, that graceful eafe ; 
 That blufhing modefty that warms ; 
 
 That native art to pleafe ! 
 
 Come then, my love ! O come along ! 
 
 And feed me with thy charms; 
 Come, fair infpirer of my fong ! 
 
 O fill my longing arms ! 
 
 Z3
 
 2/o SCOTS SONGS 
 
 A flame like mine can never die, 
 While charms, fo bright as thine, 
 
 So heav'nly fair, both pleafe the eye, 
 And fill the foul divine ! 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 A S SYLVIA in a foreft lay, 
 To vent her woe alone ; 
 Her fwain SYLVANDER came that way, 
 
 And heard her dying moan. 
 Ah ! is my love, fhe faid, to you 
 
 So worthlefs and fo vain? 
 Why is your wonted fondnefs now 
 Converted to difdain? 
 
 You vow'd the light fhou'd darknefs turn, 
 
 E'er you'd exchange your love ; 
 In fliades now may creation mourn, 
 
 Since you unfaithful prove. 
 Was it for this I credit gave 
 
 To ev'ry oath you fwore? 
 But ah ! it feems they moft deceive, 
 
 Who moft our charms adore. 
 
 'Tis plain your drift was all deceit, 
 
 The pra6Uce of mankind : 
 Alas ! I fee it, but too late, 
 
 My love had made me blind. 
 For you delighted, I could die ; 
 
 But oh ! with grief I'm fill'd, 
 To think that credulous conftant I 
 
 Shou'd by yourfelf be kill'd.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 271 
 
 This faid all breathlefs, fick and pale, 
 
 Her head upon her hand, 
 She found her vital fpirits fail, 
 
 And fenfes at a Hand. 
 SYLVANDER then began to melt ; 
 
 But e'er the word was given, 
 The heavy hand of death fhe felt, 
 
 And figh'd her foul to Heaven. 
 
 PEGGY, I muft love thee. 
 
 A S from a rock paft all relief, 
 
 The fhipwreckt COLIN fpying, 
 His native foil, o'ercome with grief, 
 
 Half funk in waves, and dying : 
 
 With the next morning-fun he fpies 
 
 A fhip, which gives unhop'd furprife; 
 
 New life fprings up, he lifts his eyes 
 
 With joy, and waits her motion. 
 
 So when by her whom long I lov'd, 
 
 I fcorn'd was, and deferted, 
 Low with defpair my fpirits mov'd, 
 
 To be for ever parted : 
 Thus droopt I, till diviner grace 
 I found in PEGGY'S mind and face; 
 Ingratitude appear'd then bafe, 
 
 But virtue more engaging. 
 
 Then now fince happily I've hit, 
 
 I'll have no more delaying? 
 Let beauty yield to manly wit, 
 
 We lofe ourfelves in flaying :
 
 272 SCOTS S p N G S 
 
 I'll hade dull courtlhip to a clofe, 
 Since marriage can my fears oppofe : 
 Why mould we happy minutes lofe? 
 Since, PEGGY, I mufl love thee. 
 
 Men may be foolifh, if they pleafe, 
 
 And deemt a lover's duty, 
 To figh, and facrifice their eafe, 
 
 Boating on a proud beauty : 
 Such was my cafe for many a year, 
 Still hope fucceeding to my fear, 
 Falfe B E T T Y' s charms now disappear 
 
 Since P E G G Y'S far outfhine them. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 TJ E N E A T H a beech's grateful (ha.de 
 Young COLIN lay complaining ; 
 He figh'd, and feem'd to love a maid, 
 
 Without hopes of obtaining : 
 For thus the fwain indulg'd his grief, 
 
 Tho' pity cannot move thee, 
 Tho' thy hard heart gives no relief, 
 
 Yet, PEGGY, I muft love thee. 
 
 Say, PEGGY, what has COLIN done, 
 
 That thus you cruelly ufe him? 
 If love's a fault, 'tis that alone 
 
 For which you mould excufe him ! 
 'Twas thy dear felf firft rais'd this flame, 
 
 This fire by which I languifh; 
 'Tis thou alone can quench the fame, 
 
 And cool its fcorching anguifh.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 273 
 
 For thee I leave the fportive plain, 
 
 Where ev'ry maid invites me; 
 For thee, fole caufe of all my pain, 
 
 For thee that only flights me : 
 This love that fires my faithful heart 
 
 By all but thee's commended. 
 Oh ! would thou act fo good a part, 
 
 My grief might foon be ended. 
 
 That beauteous bread fo foft to feel, 
 
 Seem'd tendernefs all over, 
 Yet it defends thy heart like fteel, 
 
 'Gainft thy defpairing lover. 
 Alas ! tho' mould it ne'er relent, 
 
 Nor C o L i N ' s care e'er move thee, 
 Yet till life's latefl breath is fpent, 
 
 My PEGGY, I mull love thee. 
 
 Polwart on the Green. 
 
 A T Polwart on the green, 
 
 If you'll meet me the morn, 
 Where laffes do convene 
 
 To dance about the thorn, 
 A kindly welcome you fhall meet, 
 
 Frae her wha likes to view 
 A lover and a lad complete, 
 The lad and lover you. 
 
 Let dorty dames fay Na, 
 As lang as e'er they pleafe, 
 
 Seem caulder than the ma', 
 While inwardly they bleeze ; 
 
 (i 8)
 
 274 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 But I will frankly fhaw my mind, 
 
 And yield my heart to thee; 
 Be ever to the captive kind, 
 
 That langs na to be free. 
 
 At Polwart on the green, 
 
 Amang the new-mawn hay, 
 With fangs and dancing keen, 
 
 We'll pafs the heartfome day. 
 At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid, 
 
 And thou be twin'd of thine, 
 Thou fhalt be welcome, my dear lad. 
 To tak a part of mine. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 T 1 H O' beauty, like the rofe, 
 
 That fmiles on Polwart green, 
 In various colours (hows, 
 
 As 'tis by fancy feen : 
 Yet all its diff 'rent glories ly 
 
 United in thy face, 
 And virtue, like the fun on high, 
 Oives rays to every grace. 
 
 So charming is her air, 
 
 So fmooth, fo calm her mind, 
 That to fome angel's care 
 
 Each motion feems affign'd : 
 But yet fo chearful, fp rightly, gay, 
 
 The joyful moments fly, 
 As if for wings they dole the ray 
 She darteth from her eye.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 275 
 
 Kind, am'rous CUPIDS, while 
 With tuneful voice fhe fings, 
 Perfume her breath and fmile, 
 
 And wave their balmy wings : 
 But as the tender blufhes rife, 
 Soft innocence doth warm, 
 The foul in blifsful extafies 
 Diffolveth in the charm. 
 
 P E A T Y ' S Mill. 
 
 H E lafs of P E A T Y'S mill, 
 So bonny, blyth. and gay, 
 In spite of all my fkill, 
 
 Hath ftole my heart away. 
 When tedding of the hay 
 
 Bare-headed on the green, 
 
 Love 'midft her locks did play, 
 
 And wanton'd in her een. 
 
 Her arms, white, round, and fmooth, 
 
 Breafts rifing in their dawn, , 
 To age it would give youth, 
 
 To prefs 'em with his hand : 
 Through all my fpirits ran 
 
 An extafy of blifs, 
 When T fuch fweetnefs fand 
 
 Wrapt in a balmy kifs. 
 
 Without the help of art, 
 
 Like flowers which grace the wild, 
 She did her fweets impart, 
 
 Whene'er fhe fpoke or fmil'd.
 
 276 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Her looks they were fo mild, 
 
 Free from affected pride, 
 She me to love beguil'd, 
 
 I wifh'd her for my bride. 
 
 O had I all that wealth 
 
 HOPTOUN'S high mountains fill, 
 Infur'd long life and health, 
 
 And pleafures at my will ; 
 I'd promife and fulfil, 
 
 That none but bonny me, 
 The lafs of P E A T y's mill 
 
 Shou'd fhare the fame with me. 
 
 Pier of Leith. 
 
 ^V OUNG PHILANDER woo'd me lang, 
 
 But I was peevifh and forbad him, 
 I wadna tent his loving fang, 
 
 But now I wifh, I wifh I had him : 
 Ilk morning when I view my glafs, 
 
 Then I perceive rny beauty going ; 
 And when the wrinkles feize the face, 
 
 Then we may bid adieu to wooing. 
 
 My beauty, anes fo much admir'd, 
 
 I find it fading faft, and flying ; 
 My cheeks, which coral-like appear'd, 
 
 Grow pale, the broken blood decaying : 
 Ah ! we may fee ourfelves to be, 
 
 Like fummer-fruit that is unfhaken; 
 When ripe, they foon fall down and die, 
 
 And by corruption quickly taken.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 277 
 
 Ufe then your time, ye virgins fair, 
 
 Employ your day before 'tis evil ; 
 Fifteen is a feafon rare, 
 
 But five and twenty is the devil. 
 Juft when ripe, confent unto't, 
 
 Hug nae mair your lanely pillow; 
 Women are like other fruit, 
 
 They lofe their relifh when too mellow. 
 
 If opportunity be loft, 
 
 You'll find it hard to be regained ; 
 Which now I may tell to 'my coft, 
 
 Tho' but myfell nane can be blamed ; 
 If then your fortune you refpecl, 
 
 Take the occafion when it offers; 
 Nor a true lover's fuit neglect, 
 
 Left you be fcoff'd for being fcoffers. 
 
 I, by his fond expreffions thought, 
 
 That in his love he'd ne'er prove changing; 
 But now, alas ! 'tis turn'd to nought, 
 
 And, paft my hope, he's gane a ranging. 
 Dear maidens, then, take my advice, 
 
 And let na coynefs prove your ruin; 
 For if ye be o'er foolifh nice, 
 
 Your fuitors will give over wooing. 
 
 Then maidens auld you nam'd will be, 
 
 And in that fretfu' rank be number'd, 
 As lang as life; and when ye die, 
 
 With leading apes be ever cumber'd : 
 A punifhment, and hated brand, 
 
 With which nane of us are contented ; 
 Then be not wife behind the hand, 
 
 That the miftake may be prevented. 
 VOL. I. A a
 
 278 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 PAT IE and PEGGY. 
 
 P ATI E. 
 
 "D Y the delicious warmnefs of thy mouth, 
 
 And rowing eye, which fmiling tells the truth, 
 I guefs, my laffie, that as well as I, 
 You're made for love, and why fhould ye deny? 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 But ken ye, lad, gin we confefs o'er foon, 
 Ye think us cheap, and fyne the wooing's done : 
 The maiden that o'er quickly tines her power, 
 Like unripe fruit will tafle but hard and fowr. 
 
 P AT i E. 
 
 But when they hing o'er lang upon the tree, 
 Their fweetnefs they may tine, and fae may ye ; 
 Red-cheeked you completely ripe appear, 
 And I have thol'd and woo'd a lang ha'f year. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 Then dinna pu' me ; gently thus I fa' 
 Into my P AT Y'S arms for good and a'; 
 But flint your wifhes to this frank embrace, 
 And mint nae farther till we've got the grace. 
 
 P AT I E. 
 
 () charming armsfu' ! hence, ye cares, away, 
 I'll kifs my treafure a' the live-lang day;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 279 
 
 A' night I'll dream my kiffes o'er again, 
 'Till that day come that ye'll be a' my ain. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Sun, gallop down the wejttinjkies, 
 Gang f 0011 to bed, and quickly rife : 
 O laJJi your fteeds, pojl time away, 
 And hafte about our bridal day : 
 And if ye' re wearied, honeft light, 
 Sleep, gin ye like, a week that night. 
 
 Queen of the May. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 T E R N Winter has left us, the trees are in bloom, 
 
 And cowflips and vi'lets the meadows perfume ; 
 While kids are difporting, and birds fill the fpray, 
 
 1 wait for my JOCK v to hail the new May. 
 
 J o c K Y . 
 
 Among the young lilies, my J E N N Y, I've ftray'd, 
 Pinks, daifies, and woodbines I bring to my maid ; 
 Here's thyme fweetly fmelling, and lavender gay, 
 A pofy to form for my Queen of the May. 
 
 J E N N Y. 
 
 Ah ! J o c K Y, I fear you intend to beguile, 
 When feated with MOLLY lafl night on a ftile, 
 A a 2
 
 280 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 You fwore that you'd love her for ever and ay, 
 Forgetting poor JENNY, your Queen of the May. 
 
 J oc K Y. 
 
 Young W i L L Y is handfome in fhepherds' green drefl, 
 He gave you thefe ribbons that hang at your breafl, 
 Befides three fweet kiffes upon the new hay; 
 Was that done like JENNY, the Queen of the May? 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 This garland of rofes no longer I prize, 
 
 Since J o c K Y, falfe-hearted, his paffion denies : 
 
 Ye flowers fo blooming, this inflant decay, 
 
 For JENNY'S no longer the Queen of the May. 
 
 J o c K Y. 
 
 Believe me, dear maiden, your lover you wrong. 
 Your name is for ever the theme of my fong; 
 From the dews of pale eve' to the dawning of day, 
 I fmg but of J E N N Y, my Queen of the May. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 Again, balmy comfort with tranfport I view, 
 My fears are all vanifh'd fmce J o c K Y is true ; 
 Then to our blyth fhepherds the news I'll convey, 
 That JENNY alone you've crown 'd Queen of the May. 
 
 J o c K v . 
 
 Come all ye young lovers, I pray you draw near, 
 Avoid all fufpicion, whate'er may appear;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 281 
 
 Believe not your eyes, left, your peace they betray. 
 Then come, my dear JENNY, and hail the new May. 
 Come all ye young lovers, &c. 
 
 Queen MARY. 
 
 "V" O U meaner beutyes of the night, 
 Which poorely fatisfy our eyes, 
 More by your number than your light, 
 
 Like common people of the fkyes ; 
 
 What are yee, when the moon doth rife? 
 
 Yee violets, that firfl appeare, 
 
 By your purple mantles known, 
 Like proud virgins of the yeare, 
 
 As if the fpring were all your own ; 
 
 What are ye when the rofe is blown? 
 
 Ye wand'ring chaunters of the wood, 
 That fill the ayre with nature's layes, 
 
 Thinking your paffions underftood 
 By weak accents ; What is your praife 
 When PHILOMEL her voyce mall raife? 
 
 You glancing jewels of the eajl, 
 Whofe ejlimation fancies raife, 
 
 Pearls, rubies, fapphires, and the refl 
 Of glittering gems : what is your praife, 
 When the bright diamond faews his rays ? 
 
 Biit, ah ! poor light, gem, voice andfmell, 
 What are ye if my MAR Y fliine ? 
 
 Moon, diamond, floivers, and PHILOMEL, 
 Light, luftre, fcent, and mufick tine, 
 And yield to merit more divine. 
 A a 3
 
 282 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 So when my miflrifs fhall be feen 
 
 In fweetneffe of her looks, and minde ; 
 
 By vertue firfl, then choyce a queen ; 
 
 Tell me if (he was not defignde 
 The eclipfe and glory of her kind? 
 
 There rofe and lilfy, the halefprwg, 
 Unto her breath for fweetnefs fpeed ; 
 
 The diamond darkens in the ring: 
 
 When JJie appear es, the moon looks dead, 
 As when SOL lifts his radiant head. 
 
 Highland Queen. 
 
 "VT O more my fong (hall be, ye fwains, 
 
 Of purling ftreams, or flow'ry plains ; 
 More pleafing beauties me infpire, 
 And PHOEBUS tunes the warbling lyre ; 
 Divinely aided, thus I mean 
 To celebrate my Highland Queen. 
 
 In her, fweet innocence you'll find, 
 With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd ; 
 From pride and affectation free, 
 Alike flie fmiles on you and me. 
 The brightefl nymph that trips the green, 
 I do pronounce my Highland Queen. 
 
 No fordid wifh, or trifling joy, 
 Her fettled calm of mind deftroy ; 
 Strict honour fills her fpotlefs foul. 
 And adds a luflre to the whole;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 283 
 
 A matchlefs fhape, a graceful mein, 
 All center in my Highland Queen. 
 
 How blefl that youth, whom gentle Fate 
 Has deftin'd for fo fair a mate ! 
 Has all thefe wond'rous gifts in ftore, 
 And each returning day brings more ; 
 No youth fo happy can be feen, 
 Poffeffing thee, my Highland Queen. 
 
 Rodin Cattle. 
 
 W A S in that feafon of the year, 
 
 When all things gay and fweet appear, 
 That COLIN, with the morning ray, 
 Arofe and fung his rural lay ; 
 Of N A N N Y'S charms the fhepherd fung, 
 The hills and dales with NANNY rung, 
 While Roflin caftle heard the fwain, 
 And echo'd back the chearful ftrain. 
 
 Awake, fweet mufe, the breathing fpring 
 With rapture warms, awake and fmg ; 
 Awake, and join the vocal throng, 
 And hail the morning with a fong ; 
 To NANNY raife the chearful lay, 
 O bid her hafle and come away ; 
 In fweetefl fmiles herfelf adorn, 
 And add new graces to the morn. 
 
 O hark, my love, on every fpray 
 Each feather'd warbler tunes his lav ;
 
 284 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 'Tis beauty fires the ravifh'd throng, 
 And love infpires the melting long ; 
 Then let my ravifh'd notes arife, 
 For beauty darts from NANNY'S eyes, 
 And love my rifing bofom warms, 
 And fills my foul with fvveet alarms. 
 
 O come, my love, thy C o L I N'S lay, 
 With rapture calls, O come away ; 
 Come, while the mufe this wreath mail twine 
 Around that modefl brow of thine : 
 
 hither hade, and with thee bring 
 That beauty, blooming like the fpring, 
 Thofe graces that divinely mine, 
 And charm this ravifh'd heart of mine. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 "C^ R O M Roflin caflle's echoing walls, 
 
 Refounds my fliepherd's ardent calls, 
 My C o L I N bids me come away, 
 And love demands T mould obey. 
 His melting flrain, and tuneful lay, 
 So much the charms of love difplay, 
 
 1 yield nor longer can refrain 
 
 To own my love, and blefs my fwain. 
 
 No longer can my heart conceal 
 The painful pleafing flame I feel, 
 My foul retorts the am'rous flrain, 
 And echoes back in love again. 
 Where lurks my fongfler ? from what grove 
 Does COLIN pour his notes of love ?
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 285 
 
 O bring me to the happy bower, 
 Where mutual love may blefs fecure. 
 
 Ye vocal hills that catch the fong, 
 Repeating as it flies along, 
 To C o L i N ' s ear my drain convey, 
 And fay, I hafte to come away. 
 Ye zephyrs foft that fan the gale, 
 Waft to my love the foothing tale; 
 In whifpers all my foul exprefs, 
 And tell, I hafte his arms to blefs. 
 
 Ranting, roaring WILLIE. 
 
 /^\ MARY! thy graces and glances, 
 
 Thy fmiles fo enchantingly gay, 
 And thoughts fo divinely harmonious, 
 
 Clear wit and good humour display. 
 But fay not thou'lt imitate angels 
 
 Ought fairer, though fcarcely, ah, me ! 
 Can be found equalizing thy merit, 
 
 A match among mortals for thee. 
 
 Thy many fair beauties fhed fires, 
 
 May warm up ten thoufand to love, 
 Who defpairing, may fly to fome other, 
 
 While I may defpair, but ne'er rove. 
 What a mixture of fighing and joys 
 
 This diftant adoring of thee, 
 Gives to a fond heart too afpiring, 
 
 Who loves in fad filence like me !
 
 286 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 Thus looks the poor beggar on treafure, 
 
 The fhipwreck'd on landfcapes on more; 
 Be ftill more divine, and have pity: 
 
 I die foon as hope is no more. 
 For, MARY, my foul is thy captive, 
 
 Nor loves nor expects to be free; 
 Thy beauties are fetters delightful, 
 
 Thy flavery's a pleafure to me. 
 
 Sae merry as we hae been. 
 
 A LASS that was laden'd with care 
 
 Sat heavily under yon thorn ; 
 I liflen'd a while for to hear, 
 
 When thus me began for to mourn : 
 Whene'er my dear fhepherd was there, 
 
 The birds did melodioufly fmg, 
 And cold nipping winter did wear 
 A face that refembled the fpring. 
 Sac merry as we twa hae been, 
 Sae merry as we twa hae been, 
 My heart it is like for to break, 
 When I think on the days we have feen, 
 
 Our flocks feeding clofe by his fide, 
 
 He gently preffmg my hand, 
 I view'd the wide world in its pride, 
 
 And laugh'd at the pomp of command ! 
 My dear, he would oft to me fay, 
 
 What makes you hard-hearted to me?
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 287 
 
 Oh ! why do you thus turn away 
 From him who is dying for thee ? 
 Sae merry, &c. 
 
 But now he is far from my fight, 
 
 Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
 Which makes me lament day and night, 
 
 That ever I granted my love. 
 At eve, when the reft of the folk 
 
 Were merrily feated to fpin, 
 I fet myfelf under an oak, 
 
 And heavily fighed for him. 
 Sac merry, &c. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 ^VT OW PHOEBUS advances on high, 
 Nae footfteps of Winter are feen : 
 The birds carrol fweet in the fky, 
 
 And lambkins dance reels on the green. 
 Through plantings, and burnies fae clear, 
 
 We wander for pleafure or health, 
 Where buddings and bloffoms appear, 
 
 Giving profpecls of joy and of wealth. 
 
 View ilka gay fcene all around, 
 
 That are, and that promife to be ; 
 Yet in them a' naething is found 
 
 Sae perfect, ELIZA, as thee. 
 Thy een the clear fountains excel, 
 
 Thy locks they outrival the grove ; 
 When zephyrs thus pleafmgly fwell, 
 
 Ilk wave makes a captive to love.
 
 288 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 The rofes and lillies combin'd, 
 
 And flowers of maifl delicate hue, 
 By thy cheeks and dear breafts are outfhin'd, 
 
 Their tinctures are naething fae true. 
 What can we compare to thy voice : 
 
 And what with thy humour fae fweet? 
 Nae mufic can blefs withfick joys; 
 
 Sure angels are juft fae compleat. 
 
 Fair bloflbm of ilka delight, 
 
 Whofe beauties ten thoufand outfhine ; 
 Thy fweets mail be lafting and bright, 
 
 Being mixt wi' fae many divine. 
 Ye powers, who have given fick charms 
 
 To ELIZA, your image below, 
 O fave her frae all human harms, 
 
 And make her hours happily flow ! 
 
 Saw ye nae my PEGGY 
 
 G A W ye nae my PEGGY, 
 Saw ye nae my PEGGY, 
 Saw ye nae my PEGGY, 
 
 Coming o'er the lee? 
 Sure a finer creature 
 Ne'er was form'd by Nature, 
 So complete each feature, 
 
 So divine is me. 
 
 O ! how PEGGY charms me ; 
 Every look ftill warms me;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 289 
 
 Every thought alarms me, 
 Left me love nae me. 
 
 PEGGY doth difcover 
 
 Nought but charms all over; 
 
 Nature bids me love her, 
 That's a law to me. 
 
 Who would leave a lover, 
 To become a rover? 
 No, I'll ne'er give over, 
 
 Till I happy be. 
 For fmce love infpires me, 
 As her beauty fires me, 
 And her abfence tires me, 
 
 Nought can pleafe but (lie. 
 
 When I hope to gain her, 
 Fate feems to detain her, 
 Cou'd I but obtain her, 
 
 Happy wou'd I be ! 
 I'll ly down before her, 
 Blefs, figh, and adore her, 
 With faint looks implore her, 
 
 Till me pity me. 
 
 She rofe and loot me in. 
 
 H E filent Night her fables wore, 
 
 And gloomy were the fkies; 
 Of glitt'ring flars appear'd no more 
 Than thofe in N E L L v ' s eyes ; 
 VOL. I. (19) Bb
 
 290 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 When at her father's yate I knock'd, 
 
 Where I had often been, 
 She, fhrouded only with her fmock, 
 
 Arofe and loot me in. 
 
 Fafl lock'd within her clofe embrace, 
 
 She trembling flood amam'd; 
 Her fwelling bread, and glowing face, 
 
 And every touch enflam'd. 
 My eager paffion I obey'd, 
 
 Refolv'd the fort to win; 
 And her fond heart was foon betray'd 
 
 To yield and let me in. 
 
 Then, then, beyond expreffing, 
 
 Tranfporting was the joy; 
 I knew no greater blefTmg, 
 
 So bleft a man was I ; 
 And (he, all ravim'd with delight, 
 
 Bid me oft come again; 
 And kindly vow'd that every night 
 
 She'd rife and let me in. 
 
 But ah ! at lafl (he prov'd wi' bairn, 
 
 And fighing fat, and dull, 
 And I that was as much concern'd, 
 
 Look'd e'en juft like a fool. 
 Her lovely eyes with tears ran o'er, 
 
 Repenting her rafh fin; 
 She figh'd, and curd the fatal hour 
 
 That e'er (he loot me in. 
 
 But who could cruelly deceive, 
 Or from fuch beauty part !
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 291 
 
 I lov'd her fo, I could not leave 
 
 The charmer of my heart ; 
 But wedded, and conceal'd our crime ; 
 
 Thus all was well again, 
 And now fhe thanks the happy time 
 
 She rofe and loot me in. 
 
 Slighted love fair to bide. 
 
 T H A D a heart, but now I heartlefs gae; 
 
 I had a mind, but daily was oppreft; 
 I had a friend that's now become my fae ; 
 I had a will that now has freedom loft ; 
 What have I now? nai thing I trow, 
 
 But grief where I had joy : 
 What am I than? a heartlefs man ; 
 
 Could love me thus deftroy? 
 I love, I ferve ane whom I much regard, 
 Yet for my love difdain is my reward. 
 
 Where (hall I gang to hide my weary face? 
 
 Where fhall I find a place for my defence? 
 Where my true love remains, the fitteft place, 
 Of all the earth that is my confidence. 
 She has my heart 'till I depart : 
 
 Let her do what me lift, 
 I cannot mend, but ftill depend, 
 
 And daily to infill, 
 
 To purchafe love, if love my love deferve ; 
 If not for love, let love my body ftarve. 
 Bb 2
 
 292 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 O lady fair ! whom I do honour moft, 
 
 Your name and fame within my bread I have; 
 Let not my love and labour thus be loft, 
 But flill in mind I pray thee to engrave, 
 That I am true, and fall not rue 
 
 Ane word that I have faid : 
 I am your man, do what you can, 
 When all thefe plays are play'd. 
 Then fave your fhip unbroken on the fand, 
 Since man and goods are all at your command. 
 
 Sogcr Laddie. 
 
 IV/I" Y foger laddie is over the fea, 
 
 And he will bring gold and money to me; 
 And when he comes hame, he'll make me a lady, 
 My bleffmg gang wi' my foger laddie. 
 
 My doughty laddie is handfome and brave, 
 And can as a foger and lover behave; 
 
 True to his country, to love he is fteddy, 
 
 There's few to compare with my foger laddie. 
 
 Shield him, ye angels, frae death in alarms, 
 Return him with laurels to my langing arms. 
 
 Syne frae all my care ye'll pleafantly free me, 
 When back to my wifhes my foger ye gie me. 
 
 O foon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, 
 As quickly they muft, if he get his due : 
 
 For in noble actions his courage is ready, 
 Which makes me delight in my foger laddie.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 293 
 
 Tweed-Side. 
 
 HAT beauties does FLORA difclofe? 
 
 How fweet are her fmiles upon Tweed ! 
 Yet MARY'S ftill fweeter than thofe; 
 
 Both nature and fancy exceed. 
 Nor daify, nor fweet blufhing rofe, 
 
 Nor all the gay flowers of the field, 
 
 Nor Tweed gliding gently through thofe, 
 
 Such beauty and pleafure does yield. 
 
 The warblers are heard in the grove, 
 
 The linnet, the lark, and the thrufh, 
 The blackbird, and fweet cooing dove, 
 
 With mufic enchant every bufh. 
 Come, let us go forth to the mead, 
 
 Let us fee how the primrofes fpring; 
 We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed, 
 
 And love while the feathered folks fmg. 
 
 How does my love pafs the long day? 
 
 Does MARY not tend a few fiieep? 
 Do they never carelefly ftray, 
 
 While happily fhe lyes afleep? 
 Tweed's murmurs mould lull her to reft; 
 
 Kind Nature indulging my blifs, 
 To relieve the foft pains of my breaft, 
 
 I'd fteal an ambrofial kifs. 
 
 'Tis flie does the virgins excel, 
 
 No beauty with her may compare ; 
 Love's graces around her do dwell; 
 
 She's faireft, where thoufands are fair. 
 Bb 3
 
 294 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 Say, charmer, where do thy flocks ftray? 
 
 Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed ; 
 Shall I feek them on fweet winding Tay, 
 
 Or the pleafanter banks of the Tweed? 
 
 Throw the Wood, Laddie. 
 
 O 
 
 SANDY, why leaves thou thy NELLY to mourn? 
 Thy prefence cou'd eafe me, 
 When naething can pleafe me : 
 Now dowie I figh on the bank of the burn, 
 Or throw the wood, laddie, until thou return. 
 
 Tho' woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear, 
 
 While lav'rocks are fmging, 
 
 And primrofes fpringing; 
 Yet nane of them pleafes my eye or my ear, 
 When throw the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear. 
 
 That I am forfaken, fome fpare not to tell : 
 
 I'm fafh'd wi' their fcorning, 
 
 Baith evening and morning: 
 Their jeering gaes aft to my heart wi' a knell, 
 When throw the wood, laddie, I wander myfell. 
 
 Then flay, my dear SANDY, nae langer away. 
 
 But quick as an arrow, 
 
 Hafle here to thy marrow, 
 Wha's living in langour till that happy day, 
 When throw the wood, laddie, we'll dance, fingand play.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 295 
 
 To danton me. 
 
 ALAS! when charming SYLVIA'S gone, 
 
 I figh and think myfelf undone ; 
 But when the lovely nymph is here, 
 I'm pleas 'd, yet grieve; and hope, yet fear. 
 Thoughtlefs of all but her I rove. 
 Ah! tell me, is not this call'd love? 
 
 Ah me! what pow'r can move me fo? 
 I die with grief when me mufl go, 
 But I revive at her return ; 
 I fmile, I freeze, I pant, I burn : 
 Tranfports fo ftrong, fo fweet, fo new, 
 Say, can they be to friendfhip due? 
 
 Ah no ! 'tis love, 'tis now too plain, 
 I feel, I feel the pleafing pain : 
 For who e'er faw bright SYLVIA'S eyes, 
 But wim'd, and long'd, and was her prize? 
 Gods, if the trueft mufl be blefs'd, 
 O let her be by me poffeft. 
 
 Woe's my heart that we fhould funder. 
 
 I T H broken words, and downcafl eyes, 
 Poor COLIN fpoke his paffion tender ; 
 And, parting with his G R i s Y, cries, 
 
 Ah ! woe's my heart that we mould funder. 
 
 To others I am cold as fnow, 
 
 But kindle with thine eyes like tinder :
 
 296 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 From thee with pain I'm forc'd to go; 
 It breaks my heart that we mould funder. 
 
 Chain'd to thy charms, I cannot range, 
 No beauty new my love (hall hinder, 
 
 Nor time nor place mail ever change 
 My vows, tho' we're oblig'd to funder. 
 
 The image of thy graceful air, 
 
 And beauties which invite our wonder, 
 
 Thy lively wit and prudence rare, 
 
 Shall ftill be prefent though we funder. 
 
 Dear nymph, believe thy fwain in this, 
 You'll ne'er engage a heart that's kinder; 
 
 Then feal a promife with a kifs, 
 
 Always to love me though we funder. 
 
 Ye Gods ! take care of my dear lafs, 
 That as I leave her I may find her; 
 
 When that bleft time mail come to pafs, 
 We'll meet again and never funder. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 Q P E A K on fpeak thus, and ftill my grief, 
 
 Hold up a heart that's finking under 
 Thefe fears that foon will want relief, 
 
 When PATE mufl from his PEGGY funder. 
 A gentler face, and filk attire, 
 
 A lady rich, in beauty's bloffom, 
 Alack, poor me ! will now confpire 
 
 To fleal thee from thy PEGGY'S bofom. 
 
 Nae mair the fhepherd wha excell'd 
 
 The refl, \vhafe wit made them to wonder,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 297 
 
 Shall now his PEGGY'S praifes tell ; 
 
 Ah ! I can die, but never funder. 
 Ye meadows where we aften flra/d, 
 
 Ye banks where we were wont to wander, 
 Sweet-fcented rucks, round which we play'd, 
 
 You'll lofe your fweets when we're afunder. 
 
 Again, ah ! fliall I never creep, 
 
 Around the know with filent duty, 
 Kindly to watch thee, while afleep, 
 
 And wonder at thy manly beauty ? 
 Hear, Heaven, while folemnly I vow, 
 
 Tho' thou fhouldft prove a wand'ring lover, 
 Thro' life to thee I mall prove true, 
 
 Nor be a wife to any other. 
 
 The wauking of the Faulds. 
 
 AT Y P E G G Y is a young thing, 
 
 Juft enter'd in her teens, 
 Fair as the day, and fweet as May, 
 Fair as the day, and always gay. 
 My P E G G Y is a young thing, 
 
 And I'm not very auld, 
 Yet well I like to meet her at 
 The wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My PEGGY fpeaks fae fweetly, 
 
 Whene'er we meet alane, 
 I wifh nae mair to lay my care, 
 T wifh nae mair of a' that's rare,
 
 298 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 My PEGGY fpeaks fae fweetly, 
 To a' the lave I'm cauld ; 
 
 But me gars a' my fpirits glow, 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My PEGGY fmiles fae kindly, 
 
 Whene'er I whifper love, 
 That I look down on a' the town, 
 That I look down upon a crown, 
 My PEGGY fmiles fae kindly, 
 
 It makes me blyth and bauld, 
 And naething gi'es me fick delight, 
 As wauking of the fauld. 
 
 My PEGGY fmgs fae faftly, 
 When on my pipe I play , 
 By a' the reft it is confefl, 
 By a' the reft, that fhe fmgs bed. 
 My PEGGY fmgs fae faftly, 
 And in her fangs are tald, 
 With innocence the wale of fenfe, 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 To the tune of The Yellow-hair* d laddie. 
 
 T N April when primrofes paint the fweet plain, 
 And fummer approaching rejoiceth the fwain ; 
 The yellow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go 
 To wilds and deep glens where the hawthorn trees grow. 
 
 There under the (hade of an old facred thorn, 
 With freedom he fung his loves ev'ning and morn ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 299 
 
 He fang with fo faft and enchanting a found, 
 That fylvans and fairies unfeen danc'd around. 
 
 The fhepherd thus fung, Tho' young M A Y A be fair, 
 Her beauty is dafh'd with a fcornfu' proud air; 
 But SUSIE was handfome, and fweetly cou'd fmg ; 
 Her breath like the breezes perfum'd in the fpring. 
 
 That M A D i E in all the gay bloom of her youth, 
 Like the moon was unconftant, and never fpoke truth ; 
 But SUSIE was faithful, good-humour'd, and free, 
 And fair as the goddefs which fprung from the fea. 
 
 That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dow'r, 
 Was aukwardly airy, and frequently fowr ; 
 Then, fighing, he wifh'd, wou'd parents agree, 
 The witty fweet S u s i E his miftrefs might be. 
 
 Same Tune. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 TT7"HEN firft my dear laddie gade to the green hill, 
 And I at ewe-milking firft fey'd my young (kill, 
 To bear the milk bowie nae pain was to me, 
 When I at the bughting forgather'd with thee. 
 
 P A T i E . 
 
 When corn-rigs wav'd yellow, and blue hether-bells 
 Bloom'd bonny on moorland and fweet rifing fells, 
 Nae birns, briers, or brechens ga'e trouble to me, 
 If I found the berries right ripen'd for thee.
 
 300 SCOTS SONGS. 
 PEGGY. 
 
 When thou ran, or wreflled, or putted the (lane, 
 And came aff the victor, my heart wag ay fain : 
 Thy ilka fport manly ga'e pleafure to me ; 
 For nane can putt, wreftle, or run fvvift as thee. 
 
 P ATI E. 
 
 Our JENNY fmgs faftly the Cowden-broom knows, 
 And R o s i E lilts fvveetly the milking the ewes ; 
 There's kw Jenny Nettles like N A N s Y can fmg, 
 At throw the wood, laddie, BESS gars our lugs ring 
 But when my dear PEGGY fmgs, with better (kill, 
 The boatman, Tweedfide, or the lafs of the mill, 
 'Tis mony times fweeter and pleafant to me ; 
 For tho' they fmg nicely, they cannot like thee. 
 
 PEGGY. 
 
 How eafy can lafTes trow what they defire ! 
 And praifes fae kindly increafes Love's fire : 
 Give me ftill this pleafure, my ftudy fhall be, 
 To make myfelf better and fweeter for thee. 
 
 To the tune of Nancy's to tJic green wood ganc. 
 
 T YIELD, dear laffie, ye have won, 
 
 And there is nae denying, 
 That fure as light flows frae the fun, 
 Frae love proceeds complying ;
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 301 
 
 For a' that we can do or fay 
 
 'Gainft love, nae thinker heeds us, 
 They ken our bofoms lodge the fae 
 
 That by the heartftrings leads us. 
 
 To the tune of Leith Wynd. 
 
 JENNY. 
 
 E R E I affur'd you'll conftant prove, 
 
 Ye fhou'd nae mair complain; 
 The eafy maid, befet with love, 
 Few words will quickly gain; 
 For I muft own, now fmce you're free, 
 
 This too fond heart of mine 
 Has lang, a black-fole true to thee, 
 Wim'd to be pair'd with thine. 
 
 ROGER. 
 
 I'm happy now, oh ! let my head 
 
 Upon thy bread recline; 
 The pleafure ftrikes me near hand dead ; 
 
 Is JENNY then fae kind ! 
 O let me brifs thee to my heart, 
 
 And round my arms entwine; 
 Delytfu' thought; we'll never part, 
 
 Come prefs thy mouth to mine. 
 
 VOL. I. C c
 
 302 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 To the tune of O'er Bogie. 
 
 E E L, I agree, ye're fure of me ; 
 
 Next to my father gae ; 
 Make him content to give confent, 
 He'll hardly fay you nay : 
 
 For you have what he wad be at, 
 
 And will commend you weel, 
 Since parents auld think love grows cauld, 
 
 Where bairns want milk and meal. 
 
 Shou'd he deny, I care na by, 
 
 He'd contradict in vain, 
 Tho' a' my kin had faid and fworn, 
 
 But thee I will have nane. 
 
 Then never range nor learn to change, 
 
 Like thefe in high degree : 
 And if ye prove faithful in love, 
 
 You'll find nae faut in me. 
 
 To the tune of Wat ye w/ia I met yejlreen. 
 
 ~VT O W from rufticity and love, 
 
 Whofe flames but over lowly burn, 
 My gentle fhepherd muft be drove, 
 
 His foul mufl take another turn : 
 As the rough diamond from the mine, 
 
 In breakings only mews his light, 
 Till polifhing has made it mine; 
 
 Thus learning makes the genius bright.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 303 
 
 To the tune of Kirk wad let me be. 
 
 T\ U T Y and part of reafon, 
 
 Plead ftrong on the parent's fide, 
 Which love fuperior calls treafon ; 
 
 The ftrongeft muft be obey'd ; 
 For now tho' I'm one o' the gentry, 
 
 My conftancy falfehood repels, 
 For change in my heart is no entry, 
 
 Still there my dear PEGGY excells. 
 
 To the tune of Tweedfide. 
 
 "\T7"HEN hope was quite funk in defpair, 
 
 My heart it was going to break ; 
 My life appear'd worthlefs my care, 
 
 But now I will fave't for thy fake. 
 Where-e'er my love travels by day, 
 
 Where-ever he lodges by night, 
 With me his dear image mail flay, 
 
 And my foul keep him ever in fight. 
 
 With patience I'll wait the long year, 
 
 And ftudy the gentleft charms; 
 Hope time away till thou appear, 
 
 To lock thee for ay in thofe arms. 
 Whilft thou was a fhepherd, I priz'd 
 
 No higher degree in this life ; 
 But now I'll endeavour to rife 
 
 To a height is becoming thy wife. 
 C c 2
 
 304 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 For beauty that's only fkin-deep, 
 
 Muft fade like the gowans of M A Y, 
 But inwardly rooted will keep 
 
 For ever, without a decay. 
 Nor age, nor the changes of life, 
 
 Can quench the fair fire of love, 
 If virtue's ingrain'd in the wife, 
 
 And the hufband have fenfe to approve. 
 
 To the tune of TJie bnJJi aboon Traquair. 
 
 A T fetting day, and rifmg morn, 
 
 With foul that dill (hall love thee, 
 I'll afk of Heaven thy fafe return, 
 With all that can improve thee. 
 I'll vifit oft the birken bum, 
 
 Where firfl thou kindly told me 
 Sweet tales of love, and hid my blufh, 
 Whilft round thou didft enfold me. 
 
 To all our haunts I will repair, 
 
 By green-wood fhaw. or fountain, 
 Or where the fummer day I'd fhare 
 
 With thee, upon yon mountain. 
 There wilj I tell the trees, and flowers, 
 
 From thoughts unfeign'd and tender, 
 By vows you're mine, by love is yours 
 
 A heart which cannot wander.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 305 
 
 Bonny grey-eyed morn. 
 
 f I H H E bony grey-ey'd morn begins to peep, 
 And darknefs flies before the rifing ray, 
 The hearty hynd flarts from his lazy fleep, 
 
 To follow healthful labours of the day : 
 Without a guilty fting to wrinkle his brow, 
 
 The lark and the linnet tend his levee, 
 And he joins their concert, driving his plow, 
 
 From toil of grimace and pageantry free. 
 
 While flufter'd with wine, or madden'd with lofs 
 
 Of half an eflate, the prey of a main, 
 The drunkard and gamefter tumble and tofs, 
 
 Wifhing for calmnefs and {lumber in vain ; 
 Be my portion health, and quietnefs of mind, 
 
 Plac'd at due diftance from parties and ftate, 
 Where neither ambition, nor avarice blind, 
 
 Reach him who has happinefs link'd to his fate. 
 
 Sweet ANNIE frae the fea beach came. 
 
 G W E E T ANNIE frae the fea-beach came, 
 
 Where J o c K Y fpeel'd the veffel's side; 
 Ah ! wha can keep their heart at hame, 
 
 When J o c K Y'S toft aboon the tyde : 
 Far aft" to diftant realms he gangs, 
 
 Yet I'll be true as he has been ; 
 And when ilk lafs about him thrangs, 
 
 He'll think on ANNIE, his faithful ain. 
 
 (20) CC 3
 
 306 SCOTS SONGS 
 
 I met our wealthy laird yeflreen, 
 
 Wi' gou'd in hand he tempted me, 
 He prais'd my brow, my rolling een, 
 
 And made a brag of what he'd gie : 
 What though my J o c K Y ' s far awa', 
 
 Toft up and down the awfome main, 
 I'll keep my heart another day, 
 
 Since J o c K Y may return again. 
 
 Nae mair, falfe JAMIE, fmg nae mair, 
 
 And fairly caft your pipe away; 
 My J o c K Y wad be troubled fair, 
 
 To fee his friend his love betray : 
 For a' your fongs and verfe are vain, 
 
 While J o c K Y'S notes do faithful flow, 
 My heart to him mall true remain, 
 
 I'll keep it for my conftant jo. 
 
 Blaw faft, ye gales, round J o c K Y'S head, 
 
 And gar your waves be calm and ftill ; 
 His hameward fail with breezes fpeed, 
 
 And dinna a' my pleafure fpill : 
 What though my J o c K Y'S far away, 
 
 Yet he will braw in filler mine ; 
 I'll keep my heart anither day, 
 
 Since J o c K Y may again be mine. 
 
 Deil tak the wars. 
 
 ~P\ E I L tak the wars that hurried BILLY from me, 
 
 Who to love me juft had fworn ; 
 They made him captain fure to undo me : 
 Woe's me, he'll ne'er return.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 307 
 
 A thoufand loons abroad will fight him, 
 
 He from thoufands ne'er will run ; 
 Day and night I did invite him, 
 
 To flay at home from fword and gun. 
 
 I us'd alluring graces, 
 With muckle kind embraces, 
 Now fighing, then crying, tears dropping fall ; 
 And had he my foft arms, 
 Preferr'd to war's alarms, 
 By love grown mad, without the man of God, 
 I fear in my fit I had granted all. 
 
 I wafh'd and patch'd, to make me look provoking; 
 
 Snares that they told me would catch the men, 
 And on my head a huge commode fat poking, 
 
 Which made me mew as tall again ; 
 For a new gown too I paid muckle money, 
 
 Which with golden flow'rs did mine; 
 My love weil might think me gay and bonny, 
 
 No Scots lafs was e'er fo fine. 
 
 My petticoat I fpotted, 
 
 Fringe too with thread I knotted, 
 Lace shoes, and filk hofe, garter full over knee ; 
 
 But oh ! the fatal thought, 
 
 To BILLY thefe are nought ; 
 Who rode to towns, and rifled with dragoons, 
 When he, filly loon, might have plunder'd me.
 
 308 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 ELORE lo! 
 
 T N a garden fo green in a May morning, 
 
 Heard I my lady pleen of paramours, 
 Said flie, my love so fweet, come you not yet, not yet, 
 Hight you not me to meet amongfl the flowers, 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 I love my lufly love, E L o R E lo ! 
 
 The light up-fpringeth, the dew down dingeth, 
 The fweet lark fingeth her hours of prime ; 
 Phoebus up fpenteth, joy to reft wenteth, 
 So loft is mine intents, and gone's the time. 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 I love my lufty love, E L o R E lo ! 
 
 Danger my dead is, falfe fortune my feed is, 
 And langour my lead is, but hope I defpair, 
 Difdain my defire is, fo ftrangenefs my fear is, 
 Deceit out of all ware : adieu, I fare. 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 I love my lufty love, ELORE lo ! 
 
 Then to my Lady blyth, did I my prefence kyth : 
 
 Saying, my bird, be glad; am I not yours? 
 
 So in my arms too, did I the lufly jo, 
 
 And kiffed her times mo, than night hath hours, 
 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 
 I love my lufly love, ELORE lo ! 
 
 Live in hope, lady fair, and repel all defpair, 
 Truft not that your true love fhall you betray, 
 When deceit and languor, is banifht from your bower,
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 309 
 
 I'll be your paramour, and mall you pleafe, 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 I love my lufly love, E L o R E lo ! 
 
 Favour and duty, unto your bright beauty, 
 Confirmed hath lawtie obliged to truth ; 
 So that your foverance, heartilie but variance, 
 Mark in your memorance, mercy and ruth, 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 I love my lufly love, E L O R E lo ! 
 
 Yet for your courtefie, banifh all jealoufie, 
 
 Love for love luflily, do me reftore ; 
 
 Then with us lovers young, true love fhall reft and reign, 
 
 Solace fhall fweetly fmg for ever more, 
 
 ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! ELORE! 
 
 I love my lufty love, E L o R E lo ! 
 
 Wo worth the time, &c. 
 
 "\T7" O worth the time and eke the place, 
 
 That fhe was to me known ; 
 For fince I did behold her face, 
 
 My heart was never mine own, mine own jo, mine 
 
 own, 
 My heart was never mine own. 
 
 Sometimes I lived at libertie, 
 
 But now I do not fo ; 
 She hath my heart fo faithfullie, 
 
 That I can love no mo, no mo. jo, no mo, 
 
 That I can love no mo.
 
 310 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 To be refus'd of love, alas ! 
 
 All earthly things adieu, 
 My miftrefs fhe is mercilefs, 
 
 And will not on me rue, me rue jo, me rue, 
 
 And will not on me rue. 
 
 Now am I left all comfortlefs, 
 
 And no remeid can crave, 
 My pains they are remeadilefs, 
 
 And all the wyte you have, you have jo, you have, 
 
 And all the wyte you have. 
 
 The flower of Yarrow. 
 
 T N ancient times, as fongs rehearfe, 
 
 One charming nymph employed each verfe, 
 She reign'd alone without a marrow, 
 MARYSCOT the flower of Yarrow. 
 Our fathers with fuch beauty fir'd, 
 This matchlefs fair in crouds admir'd, 
 Though matchlefs then, yet here's her marrow, 
 MARY SCOT'S the flower of Yarrow. 
 
 Whofe beauty unadorn'd by art, 
 With virtue join'd attracts each heart ; 
 Her negligence itfelf would charm you, 
 She fcarcely knows her power to warm you. 
 
 For ever ceafe Italian noife ; 
 Let every firing and every voice, 
 Sing MARY SCOT without a marrow, 
 MARY SCOT the flower of Yarrow.
 
 SCOTS SONGS. 311 
 
 Original of Tweedfide. 
 
 T\7" HEN MEGGY and me were acquaint, 
 
 I carried my noddle fu hie, 
 Nae lintwhite on all the gay plain, , 
 Nor goudfpink fae bonny as (he. 
 
 I whittled, I pip'd, and I fang, 
 
 I woo'd, but I came nae great fpeed, 
 Therefore I maun wander abroad, 
 
 And lay my banes over the Tweed. 
 
 To MEGGY my love I did tell, 
 
 Saut tears did my paffion exprefs, 
 Alas ! for I loo'd her o'er well, 
 
 And the women loo' fie a man lefs. 
 
 Her heart it was frozen and cauld, 
 
 Her pride had my ruin decreed, 
 Therefore I will wander abroad, 
 
 And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 
 
 Kind ROBIN looes me. 
 
 ~O O B I N is my only joe, 
 
 Robin has the art to loo', 
 So to his fuit I mean to bow 
 
 Becaufe I ken he looes me. 
 Happy happy was the fhow'r, 
 That led me to his birken bow'r, 
 Whare firft of love I fancl the pow'r, 
 
 And ken'd that Robin loo'd me. 
 
 They fpeak of napkins, fpeak of rings, 
 Speak of gloves and kifiing firings,
 
 312 SCOTS SONGS. 
 
 And name a thoufand bonny things, 
 
 And ca' them figns he Iocs me. 
 But I'd prefer a fmack of R o B, 
 Sporting on the velvet fog, 
 To gifts as lang's a plaiden wobb, 
 
 Becaufe I ken he looes me. 
 
 He's tall and fonfy, frank and free, 
 Loo'd by a' and dear to me, 
 Wi' him I'd live, wi' him I'd die, 
 
 Becaufe my ROBIN Iocs me. 
 My titty MARY faid to me, 
 Our courtfhip but a joke wad be, 
 And I, or lang, be made to fee, 
 
 That ROBIN did na love me. 
 
 But little kens fhe what has been, 
 Me and my honeft ROB between, 
 And in his wooing, O fo keen, 
 
 Kind R o B i N is that looes me. 
 Then fly ye lazy hours away, 
 And haften on the happy day, 
 When join'd our hands Mefs JOHN mall fay, 
 
 And mak him mine that looes me. 
 
 'Till then let every chance unite, 
 To weigh our love and fix delight, 
 And I'll look down on fuch wi' fpite, 
 Wha doubt that ROBIN looes me. 
 O hey ROBIN quo' fhe, O hey ROBIN quo' (lie, 
 
 O hey ROBIN quo fhe, 
 
 Kind ROBIN looes me. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST.
 
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 u Ukom>whteh it was borrowed. 
 
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 elow. 
 
 Book Slip-35m-9,'62 (D221864H280
 
 UCLA-College Library 
 
 PR 8651 H41a 1869 v.1 
 
 
 College 
 Library 
 
 PR 
 
 8651 
 
 H/fla 
 
 1869 
 
 v.l 
 
 L| BRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 001 192 762