Poems on several subjects

What's all this vain world? or what boots it me,
Though I swim in plenty until that I die?
Since Heav'n hath robb'd me of my heart's content;
While life remains in me, I'll mourn and lament.

My sweet lovely Strephon, the pride of the plain,
Defending Amyntor, was suddenly slain.
My comforts and pleasures, they all disappear,
Since no more my Strephon is; Strephon, my dear!

When with sad reflection our pleasures I view,
Which formerly, Strephon, past 'twixt me and you,
My passion, with anguish, makes me cry and roar,
Since, my lovely Strephon! I see you no more.

Alas! for my Strephon what need I complain?
My sighs and my tears, they are all in vain:
But still to my fancy ideas appear
Of the wonted pleasures 'twixt me and my dear.

His smiles and his carriage made all men him prize,
The flower of the shepherds, and eke the most wise:
His youthful appearance was ay sweet to me;
And both our affections were loving and free.

'Mong shepherds my Strephon always led the van;
He was noble hearted and loyal to Pan:
He judged their causes with great equity;
For which now they miss him, and do mourn with me.

On that fatal day, when he went from home,
I little suspect'd him so soon in his tomb!
How dismal and heavy the news was to me,
None knows it, none feels it with such misery!

But since my dear Strephon no more can return,
I'll pay him a tribute of tears every morn;
Still wishing that Juno fair Iris would send,
With her fatal knife my sorrows to end.

SONG II.

[Bless'd with my dear Eliza's charms]

[_]

To the tune of, The bonniest Lass in a' the Warld.

Bless'd with my dear Eliza's charms,
I have a store of treasure;
When I'm busk'd in her slender arms,
I can bear no more pleasure.
O! since my lucky stars have had
An influence so kind then,
As to make me t'enjoy a maid
According to my mind then;

I'll strive to pleasure my sweet lass
With kisses and caresses:
Let all the dull unthinking class
Be banish'd all such blisses.

My arms encircling her small waist,
Her lips and mine together,
How to unty that lovely twist,
It is a grudge to either.

O she seems loath to bid me quit,
And I as loath to do it:
We yield to other such delight,
No tongue nor pen can shew it.
Now farewell, all the times I rov'd,
And smil'd on diff'rent beauties;
Since one I happily have lov'd,
I'll stand to all love's duties.

SONG III. TIMBER STAIRS.

O Peggy dinna say me na;
But grant to me the treasure
Of love's return; 'tis unka bra',
When ilka thing yields pleasure.
Nae pleasure is like love's return;
Dear Peggy grant it to me:
Nae mair wi' coy slighting spurn,
When I my love do show thee.

The forest birds example show,
My handsome bonny lassy,
That lovers should not single go;
Therefore be nae mair saucy;
But yield unto my fond desire,
My dearest charming jewel,
And quench the flame of Cupid's fire,
That burns me up like fuel.

Thy face so beautiful and gay,
Engageth me to love thee;
Thou'rt sweeter than the flow'rs in May;
There's none I'll prize above thee:

Thy wit shin'd so into my eyes,
Above all human creatures,
That Cupid caught me, as a prize,
Beholding thy fine features.

The ways of virtue, Peggy, trust,
I will observe fu' bralie;
I'll shun the steps of Venus' lust,
When others wi' them dallie.
Up stairs, down stairs, down stairs,
Timber stairs fear me;
I pray you, drap your foolish fears,
Dear Peggy, and come near me.

SONG IV. The poor Prentice.

“I am a poor prentice, bound frae all pleasure;
“Fain wad I see my love, if I had leisure.”
Sleeping and waking her image presents me;
O she is my pleasure, and yet she torments me.

Blind Cupid did challenge me in battle to th'field;
I thought nothing of it, and yet I must yield.
And now, as a captive, his bondage I'm under;
Of all my resistance he did me quite plunder.
But, if my dear jewel wad cast away scorn,
And not leave me comfortless, like one forlorn,
The bondage I'm under wad be a full pleasure,
For that my dear Jenny has charms out of measure.

O Phoebe, assist me, by shining most clearly,
When I go to the lass I love so dearly.
By day, as a captive, my master I'm serving;
And sometimes, wanting food, I'm almost starving.

Yet all is a pleasure; I count it a fine life
To gain that fine creature to be my ain wife.
Her beauty and wit, her lips sweet as honey;
When dreaming, I cry out, My love she is bonny!

I'll rifle her charms yet, when I'm at freedom;
And be to her constant, or fates strike me dumb.
The happiest of creatures I will be surely,
In her arms when I ly snug and securely.

SONG V. Few good Fellows when Jamie's awa'.

Hard fate to be absent from him that I love!
A lot that is surely determin'd above.
Yet Heaven's indulgent; and therefore I may
Be blest with my Jamie, although he delay.
The seas may be calmer, the winds blow more fair;
The clouds may dispel, and the elements clear;
My Jamie return, and come safe to the shore,
With firm resolution to leave me no more.

Hard fortune has call'd my dear Jamie away;
In far-away parts he's obliged to stay:
His own affairs here to ruin will come,
If Providence send not my dear Jamie home.
His foes they maliciously seek for my wrong;
They jest me, and jeer me, and make me their song;
They guilefully flatter my servants; and they
As eithly believe them, since Jamie's away.

He left me a gun, and an old rusty sword,
As pledges he faithfully would keep his word:
They bribed my servants, and took them awa';
And now, at his coming, I want them to shaw;
For which he may brag me, and ca' me unjust,
And tell me, I am not well worthy of trust:
And what if the spirit they call Jealousy,
Should make him to doubt too of my chastity?

And if misreports, as many there be,
Should come to his ears, then he'd lightly me,
And think that I'm scarcely worth seeing again:
Sic sad thoughts as these they ga' me wi' pain.

But if that kind Providence on us would smile,
And cause my dear Jamie to visit this isle,
Our former endearments would come to his view;
His love and affections perhaps might renew.

SONG VI. The Pease Straw.

The country swain that haunts the plain,
Driving the lightsome plow,
At night, tho' tir'd, with love all fir'd,
He views the lassie's brow.
When morning comes, instead of drums,
The flails flap merrilie,
To raise the maids out of their beds,
To shake the pease strae.

Fair Jeany raise, put on her claise;
Syne tun'd her voice to sing:
She sang sae sweet, with notes complete,
Gar'd a' the echoes ring;
And a' the males lay by their flails,
And dance most merrilie,
And bless the hour that she had pow'r
To shake the pease strae.

The musing swain, disturb'd in brain,
Fast to her arms he flew,
And strave a while; then, wi' a smile,
Sweet Jeany, red in hue,
She said right aft, I think you're daft,
That tempts a lassy sae;
Ye'll do me wrang; pray let me gang
And shake the pease strae,

My heart, said he, sair wounded be,
For thee, my Jeany fair;
Without a jest, I get nae rest;
By bed it proves a snare.

Thy image fine presents me syne,
And takes a' rest me frae;
And whiles I dream, in your esteem,
You reckon me your fae:

Which is a sign you will be mine;
Dear Jeany, say nae na:
But soon comply, or else I dy,
Sae tell me, but a flaw,
If you can love, for none above
Thee I can fancy sae;
I would be blest, if I but wist
That you would shake my strae.

Then Jeany smil'd; said, You're beguil'd,
I canna' fancy thee:
My minny bauld, she would me scauld;
Sae dinna' die for me.
But yet, I own, I am near grown
A woman: since its sae,
I'll marry thee, syne you'll get me
To shake your pease strae.

SONG VII. My Love she is the Ring-leader

[_]

To the tune of, The Gallant Shoemaker.

You Muses nine, inspire my brain;
Likewise I'll invocate Apollo,
To furnish me poetick strain,
That I may make soft numbers follow;
I mean to praise my charming fair,
Because that I love none beside her;
Her virtue, wit, and prudence rare,
Declare that she's the ring-leader.

Suppose the fairest nymph alive,
Deck'd with the finest robes in fashion,
Would use her wits how to contrive
In me for her to raise a passion,

I'd quickly fly th'enchanting dame,
And run to her of whom I'm glader;
Because in me she rais'd a flame,
She seems to me the ring-leader.

Should I compare my dearest Love
To goddesses of wit and beauty,
Inferior like, they all might move,
At her appearance, as their duty.
Likewise, the gods might her admire,
And watch her, lest some ill betide her;
And then pronounce to my desire,
That my dear love's the ring-leader.

Were great Apollo, with his harp,
Set down to sound her praises many,
The rural notes, both shrill and sharp,
Would all declare they know not any
That can compare with my dear Lass;
Fine wit and modesty o'erspread her:
This character on her I'll pass,
My love she is the ring-leader.

Great lofty Pope, and Ramsay bright
Could ne'er describe her in their verses,
Tho' they should rise at every flight,
Above all those that love rehearses.
She far surmounts the praise of man;
No tongue nor pen can right describe her:
So take my word, or there's my hand,
My love she is the ring-leader.

The rural nymphs that tread the green,
Due homage they to her surrender;
When they at nuptials do convene,
Admire her beauty, wit and splendor.
All things that make perfection shine,
Each one that views her may consider;
Their votes may all agree with mine,
And say she is the ring-leader.

She needs no paranymphs to dress;
She's comely as the bright Aurora:
She sweetly sings with chearfulness;
She's pleasant as the goddess Flora.
She's matchless for her constancy;
With features base none can deride her:
No tongue nor pen, except they ly,
Can say but she's the ring-leader.

Soft! soft! my Muse, her smiles I see!
They put my senses out of order;
I'm rapt with wond'ring ecstasy,
So that I can't write any further.
All I can say seems but to spoil
Her praise. Dame Nature has decreed her,
The fairest of the fair; and while
She lives, to be their ring-leader.

SONG VIII. The Summer Evening.

[_]

To the Tune of, The bonny Bush aboon Traquair.

Witness, ye Powers! that do attend
My sighs, and stand amazing,
And tell if falsehood I pretend,
When on her charms I'm gazing.
No, no; I scorn so base a crime;
Such thoughts need never move her:
Eternity shall waste her time,
Before I cease to love her.

Her smiles, like powerful spells, intraps
My wand'ring heart, and binds it;
Kind Cupid may wound her; perhaps
She'll yield, when as she finds it.
O then! my joys will be complete;
My wishes at my pleasure:
With great delight, whene'er we meet,
I'll hug my lovely treasure.

But oh! alas! those empty forms,
Make me with pain to languish;
As sea swains, under furious storms,
Are fill'd with grief and anguish;
So these ideas that present
My fancy, still do move me,
Until she yield, with free consent,
And say, I dearly love thee.

Which sentence, if I once but heard,
I'd be more blithe to hear her,
Than one from drowning were restor'd;
With fondness I'd admire her;
And then fly to her bosom fair,
And kindly treat my jewel;
To every swain I would declare,
That she is no more cruel.

SONG IX.

[On a sweet summer evening, a-walking I went]

[_]

To the tune of, Thro' the Wood, Laddie.

On a sweet summer evening, a-walking I went,
At my canny leisure,
To view ilka pleasure,
To languishing spirits 'twould afforded content;
Where flow'rs above measure send forth a sweet scent.

Thinks I, what a pleasure dwells in this sweet field,
Where Flora dispenses,
To pleasure the senses,
So sweet and fine odours, contentment to yield,
To all whose pretences love a rural field.

Then looking around me, I suddenly was
Surpris'd by a creature,
Whose beauty was greater
Than any before I e'er saw in a lass;
She had comely features, as she stood on the grass.

Then modestly smiling, unto me she said,
Swain, Where are you walking,
So lazily stalking,
In this secret grove? To which I replied,
I'm taking my pastime in this pleasant shade.

With that, a sharp arrow from Love's fatal bow,
It deeply me wounded,
There I lay confounded;
Senseless with pain, and scarcely could know
What was my condition; but my breast it did glow.

When, after a little, I recover'd again,
Then knew I the matter,
How that charming creature
Had been all the cause of my former pain;
And frankly my passion I 'gan to explain.

Dear lassie, said I, by thy lovely charms,
I'm robb'd of my senses,
As here evidences
My fainting, that caused by Cupid's sharp arms;
T'enjoy thee, sweet creature, my heart he alarms.

Since in this sweet grove I'm wounded by thee,
Pray do not disdain me,
For that will sore pain me;
But rather comply, or let me go free;
But it seems thou'rt the lass that's allotted for me.

This made the sweet lassie to sigh, and to say,
How has Fortune brought me,
(When none would have thought me)
To walk in the evening, and not in the day?
Or how am I happen'd this night in thy way?

Said I, with a sigh, but she could not hear,
You are the sweet creature,
And that is the matter,
That in this green shade, on this evening clear;
That must be my love, as now doth appear.

SONG X. O'er the Muir to Meggy.

And I'll o'er the muir to Meggy;
Her smiles stir up my passion;
All other maids, though ne'er so fine,
I'll court but for the fashion.
When I'm o'ercome wi' care or grief,
Or when a cross torments me,
Her smiling face yields me relief,
And presently contents me.

Her lovely looks chear up my heart,
And gars me look ay canty;
My vital life will soon depart,
Dear Meggy, gin I want thee.
Sae dinna break my tender heart,
By your unconstant dealing;
Your absence proves a grieving smart,
And hads my heart ay failing.

My heart lyes in her bosom fair;
I have it not in keeping;
Ilk night I have for her a care,
And dream of her when sleeping.
Among the croud of nymphs I gaze,
With fondness, till I spy her;
All my affections turn a blaze,
The instant that I eye her.

The pleasant tune delights my ear,
Call'd, O'er the Muir to Meggie;
Her very name gars me forbear
To let my thoughts a-vaguing.
Let ilka lad aft change his love,
For me I'll still be loyal:
I never shall my mind remove,
Without her flat denial.

SONG XI. The Leacher's Lament.

[_]

To the tune of, John Anderson my Jo.

Ilk wanton wench and merry swain,
That likes to lilt and sing,
And walk about the pleasant plain
In time of heartsome spring,
If unto Venus ye're inclin'd,
Chuse places that's remote;
To none but one reveal thy mind,
Or else you are a sot.

When I was in my youth, my lads,
I had nae cross nor care;
I laugh'd at feckless careless blades,
And courted ay the fair.
My love and I did often ly
Where pleasant flow'rs did grow;
We stood na' on't the game to try,
When it came in our row.

At last I tauld my mind to twa,
Whilk bred me meikle strife;
When they at variance did fa',
It griev'd me to the life.
Ilk ane coost up another's wrang,
That scandaliz'd me so,
That gar'd me soon forget to gang
Where pleasant flow'rs did grow.

But now my vitals are decay'd,
And runkled is my brow;
Small frights they make me soon afraid;
My reins are stiff, I trow.
The rashness of my youth, I find,
Adds twenty to my age:
The pleasant hours of Venus kind
Kills more than Mars in rage.

SONG XII. The amorous Shepherd.

[_]

Tune, Wat ye wha I met yestreen.

Na, Katie winna look sae low,
As notice me upo' the green;
Haith I am doild, because 'tis so,
That she is high and I am mean.
But, if the fates wad favour me,
And turn her to a lower guise,
Or make me rich, that I might be
An equal match to my dear prize;

With confidence I then wad fly,
And court my bonny Katie syne;
No mortal monarch's state wad I
Think half so bless'd as that of mine.
Though I had a' the world wide
At my ain government to stand,
Nane but my Katie should be bride,
Or join with me in Hymen's band.

SONG XIII. The ADMIRATION.

[_]

Tune, Will you go to Fife, Laddie?

How did you lear to sing, laddie?
Your words do pleasure bring, laddie,
Unto my ear, because I hear
You're master of the spring, laddie.

Sure 'tis a pleasant life, laddie,
To be a shepherd's wife, laddie;
When void of care, with country fare,
They drown all brawls and strife, laddie.

I'd be a wife to thee, laddie,
From crosses to be free, laddie,

Before a lord that could afford
Me gold at libertie, laddie.

Then we will oft repair, laddie,
To take the cauller air, laddie,
Upon the braes, free from our faes,
Or any subtle snare, laddie.

The fat of ky and sheep, laddie,
The brooks that softly creep, laddie,
Unto the sea, these you and me
Shall feed on and syne sleep, laddie.

None shall make us afraid, laddie.
Kind Fortune, she will spread, laddie,
Her favours free on you and me,
From evil we'll be freed, laddie.

The pleasant flow'rs are fine, laddie,
Where you and me shall dine, laddie;
The rural boughs shall shade our brows;
I'm your's, and you are mine, laddie.

SONG XIV. The COMMENDATION.

[_]

Tune, Have at the Widow, my Laddie.

My Johny's a laddie that's lightsome and fair;
Few gallants, I think, can wi' him compare;
Kind fortune has given him to me for my share.
Sae, well's me of my bonny laddie.

His face is so lovely, so pleasant he smiles,
That many young lassy I'm sure he beguiles;
There is none more happy in broad Europe's isles,
Than me and my bonny gay laddie.

My mother she frown'd, but now she is glad,
And loves my sweet Johny; her fury is laid,
She gave him her blessing, and all that she had,
In a jointure to my bonny laddie.

My Johny he's active, couragious and bold;
He values not riches, nor silver, nor gold;
He's virtuous and constant in love; so I'll hold,
Few imitate my bonny laddie.

He reads, and he speaks, and he sings with an air,
That outstrips the warblers that fly in the air:
His sweet charming notes they fully declare
The worthiness of my gay laddie.

He's heartsome and cheary, and always content;
In wisdom and learning, and in merriment,
His quiet sober life hereto he hath spent;
That fits him to be my sweet laddie.

Let ladies of honour chuse gallants that's brave,
But should I live single none such I would have;
In such a preferment I would be a slave,
If robb'd of my bonny sweet laddie.

The flocks that he tended may bleat and be wae;
The lav'rocks and lintwhites, they a' may be sae,
Since he from their company must come away
To be my dear love and my laddie.

The deserts were homely when he was in them;
His music it would make a wild savage tame:
For in me it raised a tormenting flame,
Till I once enjoy'd my sweet laddie.

SONG XV.

[In former ages, when]

[_]

Tune, The Lass of Patie's Mill.

In former ages, when
Dame Nature bore the sway,
All thought 't a pleasure then
Her precepts to obey.
Love wantonly did play
In pure simplicity;
His wounding darts made way
'Mong high and low degree.

Wit, beauty, virtue, where
Young Cupid found these three,
He aim'd his arrows there,
Through all difficulty:
In wealth no merit he,
Nor Hymen, ere did place;
Unstain'd felicity
Shin'd then in every face.

A maid upon the plain
Could then affection move;
Princes would not disdain
To chuse such for their love:
By int'rest none was drove
Gainst Nature's laws to wed;
An instinct given by Jove;
All by nought else were led.

But age and toil, we see,
These gods have stupify'd;
So that no honesty
In all their deeds are spy'd:
Old Hymen's knots are ty'd
Unequal, now a-days;
Wealth beautifies the bride,
Though worthy of no praise.

SONG XVI. The COMPLAINT.

[_]

Tune, The East Noo of Fife.

Draw near, young men, and hear my plaint,
Ye who with laughing merriment
Beguile the hurling minutes so,
That scarce one year ye think of two.

When I was young as well as you,
My heart was light and merry too;

I courted every charming fair,
And slighted every carking care.

All day I sang with heartsome glee,
And with sweet labour earnestly
I purchas'd coin, that I might have
A furnish'd fortune to my grave.

And all the night I slept full sound,
Till little Cupid did me wound;
Then all my art I did employ
To hasten to the promis'd joy.

At markets where I met with lasses,
We wantonly carrous'd our glasses:
I frankly dealt my fairing too,
But ah! these days are past me now.

Confin'd at home, wi' churlish want,
The sooty Kakers do me daunt;
And poverty so curbs my will,
I cannot have a pint and jill.

But yet my want is not so great,
But I might have it at some rate;
And heartsomely my penny free
Spend frankly with good company.

But my wife limits all my time;
If I break loose, she banns my wime:
And vow she makes an unco fraise;
And carps and grumbles two three days.

Syne supperless I go to bed;
The morn I wake with a fair head;
Yet dare not tell, for fear my dame
Would put me to a public shame.

But since 'tis so that I'm involv'd
In such a fate, I am resolv'd
To pluck up courage, heart and hand,
And make her to her orders stand.

Come, let's be jolly, fill again;
I'll sit a while, I'm not mistane:
And while we blithly slack our drought,
Fancy (at least) we're in our youth.

I'll reign as king in my empire;
That is to say, around my fire;
And let the housewife ken I'm free
To live, while life is lent to me.

Come, here's well may the lads all be,
And all the charming lassies too;
There's still among the fair as free
As any of our sex can be.

But let the dull and clumsy queans,
Who at true harmony repines,
Live in continual frets and groans,
With hearts as cold and dead as stones.

SONG XVII. The Auld Goodman.

One morning of May, by light of the day,
As I was walking over the lee,
A little near by, I heard a man cry,
Alas! alas! what will I do?
My wife she is proud, and clamours ay loud;
I canna' content her, do what I can:
She lends me a gouf, and tells me I'm douf,
I'll ne'er be like her last goodman.

Oh! had I liv'd single, although with a pingle,
I had preserv'd my chastity;
I would have liv'd quiet, although sober diet
Had been my lot continually:
But now, as a slave, my noddle to save,
I lout and lour as well's I can;
While I'm confus'd, and thus abus'd,
Cause I'm no like her last goodman.

Oh! had she been young, I might her vile tongue
In process of time perhaps have reclaim'd,
And made her grow better; but of her ill nature,
When we were marry'd, I never dream'd.

But great Jove himsel, knows now, as in hell,
I belsh out oaths, and curse and ban,
When to it I'm furdert, and almost murder'd,
'Cause I'm no like her last goodman.

May never poor lad meet wi' sik a bad
And crossful wife as I have done;
My life is a burden while I'm wi' the lurden;
Come death, and haste, and fly, and run,
And cut my life's thread, in my extreme need,
And carry me safely to the plain,
That Jove has assign'd for comfort of mind,
Where folk like me forget their pain.

Her REPLY.

You blame your wife for your poor life;
Shame light upon your calf-like face,
That plaints on me, when I from thee,
Scarce in three months obtain a kiss.
You gaunt and groan, in slumber you moan;
No active spirit remains in thee;
Whilk gars me cry out, and lend thee a rout,
You, silly John Snool, a plague to me.

You rant and sport 'mong your consort,
And make a jest of me your wife;
And meikle good gear, whilk, both late and air,
My husband wan during his life,
You spend; 'tis seen, then late at e'en,
You homeward stagger as you can,
And tumble to bed, where ony young maid
May ly unknown, you calf-like man.

You pray that death would cut your breath;
Death scarcely thinks you worth his pains,
To ware his dart on your dull heart;
But if he would, he'd loose my chains.
Then would I be quit of you a dead sot,
That yields me no pleasure, do what I can:
His saul be at rest; I think I was bless'd
When living was my auld goodman.

SONG XVIII. The FIDELITY.

[_]

Tune, The bonny Boatman.

My pleasant Nymph, thy smiling face
Yields to me far more pleasure
Than any lass; thy kind embrace
Surmounts the greatest treasure.
Wert thou my ain,
Then I'd disdain
All other maids but thee, lass:
Pray give consent,
Do not torment
Me with unconstancy, lass.

And if you fancy me, my love,
I'll promise thee for ever,
Nothing except the Pow'rs above.
Our company shall sever:
You shall be mine,
I will be thine,
By Hymen's laws we'll marry:
Syne I will kiss
Thy bonny face,
Dear lass, and winna' spare thee.

Euphina, if I were so blest,
As have thee for my marrow,
Then blithly would I cock my crest
Free from all care and sorrow.
In rural shades,
We'll make our beds,
In pleasure and content, love;
No care nor toil
Shall ever spoil
Our rest, if you'll consent, love,

To marry me; for in my life
On earth I'll have no pleasure,
If you deny to be my wife;
I'll mourn far out of measure;
But if you love,
I'll constant prove,
None shall make me to alter:
Until I die
I will deny
To change my mind, or faulter.

SONG XIX. The forlorn MAID.

[_]

Tune, Kind ROBIN lo'es me.

Upon a morning clear and fair,
As I went forth to take the air,
I spy'd a lass in great despair,
Lamenting most severely.

Alas! said she, I am forlorn;
To all the town I'm now a scorn;
I wish that I had ne'er been born,
Since I have lost my lover.

He courted me both air and late,
And call'd me ay his bonny Kate;
But, oh! alas! my wretched fate;
I'm ruin'd quite for ever.

Alas! woes me! I am wi' bairn;
And he is gone, left me forlorn;
Now he for me has no concern,
Altho' he promis'd fairly.

His twinkling eyes, and his sweet breath,
Made me forget to dread sik skaith;
To wrang me I thought he'd be laith,
Yet my thoughts did deceive me.

He vow'd and swore, by heavens high,
By all the winged fowls that fly,
That he would marry me; and I
As eithly did believe him.

He trysted me one evening fair,
Among the groves to take the air;
But soon he brought me in a snare;
Woes me that e'er I loo'd him.

Now I maun beg with this young thing;
To pleasure it, with grief I sing;
I tear my hair, my hands I wring,
For waeness that I loo'd him.

My fortune now is cleanly broke,
By leaning to that feeble rock;
False man that gae me sik a stroke;
Sare mayst thou rue thy doings.

You virgins, keep your chastitie;
To such as him no freedom gi',
Lest that you sing along with me,
Alas! that e'er I loo'd him,

SONG XX. The BANKS of TAY.

[_]

Tune, Ettrick Banks.

The banks of Air, and Ettrick banks,
Are sweetly sung among the fair;
The former sure deserves no thanks,
For Ettrick banks first gave the air.
Yet he who sings the banks of Air,
Brags proudly of his ancient braes,
As nothing with them could compare;
But Tay's sweet banks deserve the praise.

The rapid river swiftly slides,
With pleasant murmurs, thro' the groves,
With famous woods on both its sides,
Where swains and nymphs disclose their loves;
With fertile fields and forests fair,
Adorn'd with gow'ny glens and braes,
That far surpass the banks of Air,
And more, by far, deserve the praise.

Both Dukes and Earls our banks do grace;
Lords ancient, famous of renown:
Here Royal CHARLES, of ancient race,
Receiv'd the sceptre, sword and crown.
Upon our banks there lives a Lord,
Whose title bears Broadalbion;
And Murrays, noble by renown,
A pillar of the British throne.

The Hays, an ancient warlike race,
Whose feats of arms have often been
With valour shewn in many a place,
In many bloody action seen.
When bold and proud insulting Danes,
Thought all our nation was their prey,
One made them leave the Scotian plains;
So valiant was that matchless Hay.

The Drummonds too, of noble fame,
So honourable, great and brave,
Alliance to the crown they claim,
Upon our banks a lodging have,
Enclos'd with woods and gardens fair,
That ev'ry month smiles as 'twere May:
Blyth Mary walks with pleasure here,
And beautifies the banks of Tay.

That ancient royal palace, Scoon,
Stands on the pleasant banks of Tay;
St Johnston, where you'll see the moon
On clock-work increase and decay.

Here trade and manners flourish fair;
Laws and religion equal sway;
Nor Irving's holms, nor banks of Air,
Can vie with our brave banks of Tay.

The Ogilvies, of high descent,
Sprung partly from Montgomery's race,
Whose valour Fame still represents
In that old song of Chevy-chase.
Kinnairds, true Scotsmen, much esteem'd
Among the brave, the great and gay;
They and the Ogilvies are deem'd
To beautify the banks of Tay.

The Lyons, an heroic race,
Whose castle bears their famous name,
A beautiful and lovely place,
Of regular and comely frame.
Their wide extent of fame and state,
Takes in that spacious plain Strathmore;
Here on our banks, among the great,
They share of noble fame and pow'r.

The Grays upon our banks do shine,
With splendid glories, worthy fame;
But oh! my Muse, I want engine
To scance upon the ancient name.
Let Fame in annals represent
The actions of the noble Gray;
And Heav'n guard those that resident
Here on the pleasant banks of Tay.

The Douglases, whose ancestors brave,
Shine brightly in records of fame,
Upon our banks a title have,
That adds a glory to the fame.
Here stands the city of Dundee,
Where navigation flourish fair,
Religion, trade and fishery,
Surpassing far the town of Air.

Here Macer, Lindsay, Wedderburn,
Et cætera, knights of high renown,
The banks of Tay they much adorn
With many famous tow'r and town.
The Fyfes and Crawfoords, worthy Grahams,
Brave Scotsmen, all deserving praise,
Tay's banks can boast of nobler themes
Than Ettrick, Air, or Irving's lays.

What brisker lads, more lovely swains,
Than on the banks of Tay abide?
The fairest nymphs sure here remain
That's in the universe so wide.
All sorts of grain our banks produce,
With store of fruits and gardens fair,
What's necessary for man's use,
Excelling far the banks of Air.

University of Virginia Library

A Collection of Scots Songs, being new Words adapted to old Tunes.

SONG I.

[What's all this vain world? or what boots it me]