O WAS na' she worthy o' kisses,
Far mae than twa or three,
And worthy o' bridal blisses,
Wha gaed to the kye wi' me.

O gang to the kye wi' me, my love,
Gang to the kye wi' me,

Ower the burn and through the broom,
And I'll be merry wi' thee.

I hae a house a biggin,
Anither that's like to fa',
And I love a scornfu' lassie,
Wha grieves me warst of a'.

O gang to the kye wi' me, my love,
O gang to the kye wi' me.
Ye'll think nae mair o' your mither
Amang the broom wi' me.

I hae a house a biggin, Anither that's like to fa',

SAW YE MY FATHER?

Tune" Saw ye my father?"

"O SAW ye my father, or saw ye my mother, Or saw ye my true love John ?"

"I saw not your father, I saw not your mother, But I saw your true love John."

"It's now ten at night, and the stars gie nae light,

And the bells they ring ding dong; He's met with some delay, that causeth him to stay;

But he will be here ere long."

The surly auld carle did naething but snarle, And Jonnie's face it grew red;

From an old MS. copy. The song seems to have been first printed in Herd's Collection, 1776.

replied,

gaunt;

Oh, Tammy, my man, are ye turned a saunt?

Come, lowse your heart, ye man o' the muir; We tell our distress ere we look for a cure: There's laws for a wrang, and sa's for a sair; Sae, Tammy, my man, what wad ye hae mair?

Oh! neebour, it neither was thresher nor thief, That deepened my ee, and lichtened my beef; But the word that makes me sae waefu' and wan, Is-Tam o' the Balloch's a married man!

MOTHER.

ram;

men;

too;

Wha ance was your match at a stoup and a tale? Wi' a voice like a sea, and a drouth like a whale?

DAUGHTER.

MOTHER.

Haud your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride,
For he is the bridegroom, and ye'se be the bride;
He shall lie by your side, and kiss you too;
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.

DAUGHTER.

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel,
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel;
He's out shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eyed too;
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er lo'e.

MOTHER.

Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, Yet his auld brass will buy you a new pan; Then, dochter, ye should na be sa ill to shoe, For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun lo'e.

DAUGHTER.

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae,
His back is so stiff, and his beard is grown grey;
I had rather die than live wi' him a year;
Sae mâir o' Rob Morris I never will hear.

THE MALT-MAN.

THE malt-man comes on Munday,
He craves wonder sair,

Cries, Dame, come gi'e me my siller,
Or malt ye sall ne'er get mair.

I took him into the pantry,

And gave him some good cock-broo, Syne paid him upon a gantree, As hostler-wives should do.

When malt-men come for siller,

And gaugers with wands o'er soon, Wives, tak them a' down to the cellar,

And clear them as I have done. This bewith, when cunzie is scanty, Will keep them frae making din; The knack I learu'd frae an auld aunty, The snackest of a' my kin.

The malt-man is right cunning,

But I can be as slee,

And he may crack of his winning,

When he clears scores with me: For come when he likes, I'm ready;

But if frae hame I be,
Let him wait on our kind lady,
She'll answer a bill for me.

THE AULD WIFE BEYONT THE FIRE.

THERE was a wife won'd in a glen,
And she had dochters nine or ten,

That sought the house baith but and ben,
To find their mam a snishing.

The auld wife beyont the fire,
The auld wife aniest the fire,
The auld wife aboon the fire,
She died for lack of snishing.*

Her mill into some hole had fawn, Whatrecks, quoth she, let it be gawn, For I maun hae a young goodman Shall furnish me with snishing. The auld wife, &c.

Her eldest dochter said right bauld, Fy, mother, mind that now ye're auld, And if ye with a younker wald,

He'll waste away your snishing.
The auld wife, &c.

Ne'er do what's only fit for youth,
And leave aff thoughts of snishing:

Else, like this wife beyont the fire,
Ye'r bairns against you will conspire;
Nor will ye get, unless ye hire,
A young man with your snishing.

BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY.

O BESSY Bell and Mary Gray,

They are twa bonny lassies, They bigg'd a bow'r on yon burn-brae, And theek'd it o'er wi' rashes. Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen,

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 smiles like a May morning, When Phoebus starts frae Thetis' lap, The hills with rays adorning : White is her neck, saft is her hand, Her waist and feet's fu' genty; With ilka grace she can command; Her lips, O wow! they're dainty.

And Mary's locks are like a craw,

Her een like diamonds glances; She's ay sae clean, redd up, and braw, She kills whene'er she dances: Blythe as a kid, with wit at will,

She blooming, tight, and tall is; And guides her airs sae gracefu' still. O Jove, she's like thy Pallas.

Dear Bessy Bell and Mary Gray,
Ye unco sair oppress us;
Our fancies jee between you twa,
Ye are sic bonny lassies:
Wae's me! for baith I canna get,

To ane by law we're stented;
Then I'll draw cuts, and take my fate,
And be with ane contented.

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN.

It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a-falling, That Sir John Græme in the west country Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling, O haste, and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan.

Ohooly, hooly rose she up,

To the place where he was lying,

And when she drew the curtain by, Young man, I think you're dying

O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan.
O the better for me ye's never be,

Tho' your heart's blood were a-spilling.

O dinna ye mind, young man, said she,
When he was in the tavern a-drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan ?

He turn'd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealing;
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,

And be kind to Barbara Allan.

And slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly, slowly left him;
And sighing, said, she cou'd not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,

When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell gied, It cry'd, Wo to Barbara Allan.

O mother, mother, make my bed, O make it saft and narrow, Since my love dy'd for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow.

ETTRICK BANKS.

ON Ettrick banks, in a summer's night,
At glowming when the sheep drave hame,

I met my lassie braw and tight,

Came wading, barefoot, a' her lane: My heart grew light, I ran, I flang My arms about her lily neck,

And kiss'd and clapp'd her there fou lang; My words they were na mony, feck.

I said, my lassie, will ye go

To the highland hills, the Earse to learn, I'd baith gi'e thee a cow and ew,

When ye come to the brigg of Earn. At Leith, auld meal comes in, ne'er fash, And herrings at the Broomy Law; Chear up your heart, my bonny lass, There's gear to win we never saw.

All day when we have wrought enough, When winter, frosts, and snaw begin, Soon as the sun gaes west the loch,

At night when you sit down to spin, I'll screw my pipes and play a spring: And thus the weary night will end, Till the tender kid and lamb-time bring Our pleasant summer back again.