At kirns and weddings we'se be there, And oh sae nicely 's we will fare; We'll bouse about till Daddy Care Sings whistle owre the lave o't.

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke,
And sun oursel's about the dyke,
And at our leisure, when ye like,

We'll whistle owre the lave o't.

But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms,
And while I kittle hair on thairms,
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms,
May whistle owre the lave o't.

RECITATIVO.

Her charms had struck a sturdy caîrd,
As weel as poor gut-scraper;
He taks the fiddler by the beard,
And draws a rusty rapier.

He swoor by a' was swearing worth,

To speet him like a pliver,

Unless he would from that time forth, Relinquish her for ever.

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor Tweedle-dee
Upon his hunkers bended,

And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face,
And sae the quarrel ended.

But though his little heart did grieve,
When round the tinkler press'd her,
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve,

When thus the caird address'd her:

AIR.

TUNE- Clout the caudron.'

My bonnie lass, I work in brass,
A tinkler is my station;

I've travell'd round all Christian ground,
In this my occupation:

I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd
In many a noble squadron:

But vain they search'd, when off I march'd

To go and clout the caudron.

I've ta'en the gold, &c.

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp,
Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin',
And tak a share wi' those that bear
The budget and the apron.
And by that stoup, my faith and houp,
And by that dear Kilbaigie,1

If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant,
May I ne'er weet my craigie.

RECITATIVO.

The caird prevail'd-the unblushing fair

In his embraces sunk,

Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair,

And partly she was drunk.

Sir Violino, with an air

That show'd a man of spunk,
Wish'd unison between the pair,

And made the bottle clunk

To their health that night.

36 Kilbaigie: A peculiar sort of whisky, so called from Kilbaigie distillery in Clackmannanshire, and a great favourite with Poosie Nansie's clubs.-B.

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft,
That play'd a dame a shavie,
The fiddler raked her fore and aft,
Behint the chicken cavie.
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,1
Though limping with the spavie,
He hirpled up, and lap like daft,
And shored them Dantie Davie
O' boot that night.

He was a care-defying blade,
As ever Bacchus listed,

Though Fortune sair upon him laid,
His heart she ever miss'd it.
He had no wish but-to be glad,
Nor want but-when he thirsted:
He hated naught but-to be sad,
And thus the Muse suggested

His sang that night.

AIR.

TUNE-For a' that, and a' that.'

I am a bard of no regard
Wi' gentle folks, and a' that;
But Homer-like, the glowran' byke,
Frae town to town I draw that.

CHORUS.

For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as meikle 's a' that;

I've lost but ane, I've twa behin',

I've wife eneugh for a' that.

1 Homer's craft:' Homer is allowed to be the oldest ballad-singer on record.-B.

I never drank the Muse's stank
Castalia's burn, and a' that;

But there it streams, and richly reams,
My Helicon I ca' that.

Great love I bear to a' the fair,
Their humble slave, and a' that;
But lordly will, I hold it still
A mortal sin to thraw that.

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet,
Wi' mutual love and a' that;
But for how lang the flee may stang,
Let inclination law that.

Their tricks and craft have put me daft,
They've ta'en me in, and a' that :
But clear your decks, and here's the sex!
I like the jauds for a' that.

For a' that, and a' that,

And twice as meikle 's a' that;
My dearest bluid, to do them guid,
They're welcome till 't for a' that.

RECITATIVO.

So sung the bard-and Nan sie's wa's

Shook wi' a thunder o' applause,

Re-echoed from each mouth;

They toom'd their pocks, and pawn'd their duds, They scarcely left to co'er their fuds,

To quench their lowin' drouth.

Then owre again the jovial thrang
The poet did request,

To lowse his pack, and wale a sang,

A ballad o' the best:

He rising, rejoicing,

Between his twa Deborahs,

Looks round him, and found them
Impatient for the chorus.

AIR.

TUNE- Jolly mortals, fill your glasses?
See! the smoking bowl before us,
Mark our jovial ragged ring!
Round and round take up the chorus,
And in raptures let us sing.

CHORUS.

A fig for those by law protected!
Liberty's a glorious feast!
Courts for cowards were erected,
Churches built to please the priest.

What is title ? what is treasure?
What is reputation's care?

If we lead a life of pleasure,
"Tis no matter how or where !

With the ready trick and fable,
Round we wander all the day;
And at night, in barn or stable,
Hug our doxies on the hay.

Does the train-attended carriage
Through the country lighter rove?

Does the sober bed of marriage
Witness brighter scenes of love?