The works of Allan Ramsay :: :: University of Virginia Library

Blate Jonny faintly teld fair Jean his Mind,
Jeany took Pleasure to deny him lang
He thought her Scorn came frae a Heart unkind,
Which gart him in Despair tune up this Sang.

Air

O bonny Lassie, since 'tis sae,
That I'm despis'd by thee,
I hate to live; but O I'm wae,
And unko sweer to die.

Dear Jeany, think what dowy Hours
I thole by your Disdain;
Ah! should a Breast sae saft as yours
Contain a Heart of Stane.

Recitative

These tender Notes did a' her Pity move,
With melting Heart she listned to the Boy;
O'ercome she smil'd, and promis'd him her Love:
He in Return thus sang his rising Joy.

Air

Hence frae my Breast, contentious Care,
Ye've tint the Power to pine,
My Jeany's good, my Jeany's fair,
And a' her Sweets are mine.
O spread thine Arms and gi'e me Fowth
Of dear enchanting Bliss,
A thousand Joys around thy Mouth,
Gi'e Heaven with ilka Kiss.

The TOAST.

[_]

To the Tune of, Saw ye my PEGGY .

Come let's ha'e mair Wine in,
Bacchus hates Repining,
Venus loos na Dwining,
Let's be blyth and free.
Away with dull here t'ye, Sir,
Ye'r Mistress --- gi'es her,
We'll drink her Health wi' Pleasure,
Wha's belov'd by thee.

Then let --- warm ye,
That's a Lass can charm ye,
And to Joys alarm ye,
Sweet is she to me.
Some Angel ye wad ca' her,
And never wish ane brawer,
If ye bare-headed saw her,
Kiltet to the Knee.

--- a dainty Lass is,
Come let's join our Glasses,
And refresh our Hauses,
With a Health to thee.
Let Coofs their Cash be clinking,
Be Statesmen tint in thinking,
While we with Love and Drinking,
Give our Cares the Lie.

[_]

N.B.—The first Blank to be supply'd with the Toaster's Name, the two last with the Name of the Toast.

A South-Sea Sang.

[_]

Tune of, For our lang biding here.

When we came to London Town,
We dream'd of Gowd in Gowpings here,
And rantinly ran up and down,
In rising Stocks to by a Skair:
We daftly thought to row in Rowth,
But for our Daffine pay'd right dear;
The lave will fare the war in Trouth,
For our lang biding here.

But when we fand our Purses toom,
And dainty Stocks began to fa',
We hang our Lugs, and wi' a Gloom,
Girn'd at Stockjobbing ane and a'.

If ye gang near the South-Sea House,
The Whillywha's will grip ye'r Gear,
Syne a' the lave will fare the war,
For our lang biding here.

Hap me with thy Petticoat.

O Bell, thy Looks have kill'd my Heart,
I pass the Day in Pain,
When Night returns I feel the Smart,
And wish for thee in vain.
I'm starving cold, while thou art warm,
Have Pity and incline,
And grant me for a Hap that charm-
ing Petticoat of thine.

My ravish'd Fancy in Amaze,
Still wanders o'er thy Charms,
Delusive Dreams ten thousand Ways,
Present thee to my Arms.
But waking think what I endure,
While cruel you decline
Those Pleasures which can only cure
This panting Breast of mine.

I faint, I fail, and wildly rove,
Because you still deny
The just Reward that's due to Love,
And let true Passion die.
Oh! turn, and let Compassion seise
That lovely Breast of thine;
Thy Petticoat could give me Ease,
If thou and it were mine.

Sure Heaven has fitted for Delight
That beauteous Form of thine,
And thour't too good its Law to slight,
By hindring the Design.
May all the Powers of Love agree,
At length to make thee mine,
Or loose my Chains, and set me free
From ev'ry Charm of thine.

Fy gar rub her o'er wi' Strae.

Gin ye meet a bonny Lassie,
Gie 'er a Kiss and let her gae,
But if ye meet a dirty Hussy,
Fy gar rub her o'er wi' Strae.

[_]

[The rest is, with slight differences of spelling and punctuation, identical with lines 33–60 of To the Ph--- an Ode (S.T.S., Vol. I, pp. 224–225).]

THE CORDIAL

[_]

To the Tune of, Where shall our Goodman ly.

He.
Where wad bonny Ann ly,
Alane nae mair ye maun ly;
Wad ye a Good-man try?
Is that the Thing ye're laking?

She.
Can a Lass sae young as I,
Venture on the Bridal-Tye,
Syne down with a Good-man lye?
I'm fleed he keep me waking.

He.
Never judge until ye try,
Mak me your Goodman, I
Shanna hinder you to ly,
And sleep till ye be weary.

She.
What if I shou'd waking ly
When the Hoboys are gawn by,
Will ye tent me when I cry,
My Dear, I'm faint and iry?

He.
In my Bosom thou shall ly,
When thou wakrife art or dry,
Healthy Cordial standing by,
Shall presently revive thee.

She.
To your Will I then comply,
Join us, Priest, and let me try
How I'll wi' a Goodman ly,
Wha can a Cordial give me.

ALLAN-WATER:

Or, My Love Annie's very bonny.

What Numbers shall the Muse repete?
What Verse be found to praise my Annie?
On her ten thousand Graces wait,
Each Swain admires, and owns she's bonny.

Since first she trode the happy Plain,
She set each youthful Heart on Fire,—
Each Nymph does to her Swain complain,
That Annie kindles new Desire.

This lovely Darling dearest Care;
This new Delight, this charming Annie,
Like Summer's Dawn, she's fresh and fair,
When Flora's fragrant Breezes fan ye.
All Day the am'rous Youths conveen,
Joyous they sport and play before her;
All Night, when she no more is seen,
In blessful Dreams they still adore her.

Among the Crowd Amyntor came,
He look'd, he loov'd, he bow'd to Annie;
His rising Sighs express his Flame,
His Words were few, his Wishes many.
With Smiles the lovely Maid replied,
Kind Shepherd why should I deceive ye?
Alas! your Love must be deny'd,
This destin'd Breast can ne'er relieve ye.

Young Damon came, with Cupid's Art,
His Whiles, his Smiles, his Charms beguiling,
He stole away my Virgin-Heart,
Cease, poor Amyntor, cease bewailing.
Some brighter Beauty you may find,
On yonder Plain the Nymphs are many,
Then chuse some Heart that's unconfin'd,
And leave to Damon his own Annie.

To L. M. M.

[_]

Tune, Rantin roaring Willie.

O Mary! thy graces and glances,
Thy smiles so inchantingly gay,
And thoughts so divinely harmonious,
Clear wit and good humour display.
But say not thoul't imitate angels
Ought farrer, tho' scarcely, ah me!
Can be found equalizing thy merit,
A match amongst mortals for thee.

Thy many fair beauties shed fires
May warm up ten thousand to love,
Who desparing, may fly to some other,
While I may despair, but ne'er rove.
What a mixture of sighing and joys
This distant adoring of thee,
Gives to a fond heart too aspiring,
Who loves in sad silence like me?

Thus looks the poor beggar on treasure,
And shipwreck'd on landskips on shore:
Be still more divine, and have pity;
I die soon as hope is no more.
For, Mary , my soul is thy captive,
Nor loves, nor expects, to be free;
Thy beauties are fetters delightful,
Thy slavery's a pleasure to me.

This is not mine ain House.

This is not mine ain house,
I ken by the rigging o't;
Since with my love I've changed vows,
I dinna like the bigging o't.

For now that I'm young Robie's bride,
And mistriss of his fire-side,
Mine ain house I'll like to guide,
And please me with the trigging o't.

Then farewell to my father's house,
I gang where love invites me;
The strictest duty this allows,
When love with honour meets me.
When Hymen moulds us into ane,
My Robie's nearer than my kin,
And to refuse him were a sin,
Sae lang's he kindly treats me.

When I'm in mine ain house,
True love shall be at hand ay
To make me still a prudent spouse,
And let my man command ay;
Avoiding ilka cause of strife,
The common pest of married life,
That makes ane wearied of his wife,
And breaks the kindly band ay.

My Dady forbad, my Minny forbad.

When I think on my lad,
I sigh and am sad,
For now he is far frae me.
My daddy was harsh,
My minny was warse,
That gart him gae yont the sea,
Without an estate,
That made him look blate;
And yet a brave lad is he.
Gin safe he come hame,
In spite of my dame,
He'll ever be welcome to me.

Love speers nae advice
Of parents o'er wise,
That have but ae bairn like me,
That looks upon cash,
As naithing but trash,
That shackles what shou'd be free.
And tho' my dear lad
Not ae penny had,
Since qualities better has he;
Abiet I'm an heiress,
I think it but fair is,
To love him, since he loves me.

Then, my dear Jamie,
To thy kind Jeanie,
Haste, haste thee in o'er the sea,
To her wha can find
Nae ease in her mind,
Without a blyth sight of thee.
Tho' my dady forbad,
And my minny forbad,
Forbidden I will not be;
For since thou alone
My favour hast won,
Nane else shall e'er get it for me.

Yet them I'll not grieve,
Or without their leave,
Gi'e my hand as a wife to thee:
Be content with a heart,
That can never desert,
Till they cease to oppose or be.
My parents may prove
Yet friends to our love,
When our firm resolves they see;
Then I with pleasure
Will yield up my treasure,
And a' that love orders to thee.

[O steer her up, and had her gawn]

[_]

Tune, Steer her up, and had her gawn.

O steer her up, and had her gawn,
Her mither's at the mill, jo;
But gin she winna tak a man,
E'en let her tak her will, jo.
Pray thee, lad, leave silly thinking,
Cast thy cares of love away;
Let's our sorrows drown in drinking,
'Tis daffin langer to delay.

See that shining glass of claret,
How invitingly it looks;
Take it aff, and let's have mair o't,
Pox on fighting, trade and books.
Let's have pleasure while we're able,
Bring us in the meikle bowl,
Plac't on the middle of the table,
And let wind and weather gowl.

Call the drawer, let him fill it
Fou, as ever it can hold:
O tak tent ye dinna spill it,
'Tis mair precious far than gold.
By you've drunk a dozen bumpers,
Bacchus will begin to prove,
Spite of Venus and her Mumpers,
Drinking better is than love.

Clout the Caldron.

Have you any pots or pans,
Or any broken chandlers?
I am a tinkler to my trade,
And newly come frae Flanders.

As scant of siller as of grace,
Disbanded, we've a bad-run;
Gar tell the lady of the place,
I'm come to clout her caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Madam, if you have wark for me,
I'll do't to your contentment,
And dinna care a single flie
For any man's resentment;
For, lady fair, tho' I appear
To every ane a tinkler,
Yet to your sell I'm bauld to tell,
I am a gentle jinker.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Love Jupiter into a swan
Turn'd for his lovely Leda;
He like a bull o'er meadows ran,
To carry aff Europa.
Then may not I, as well as he,
To cheat your Argos blinker,
And win your love like mighty Jove,
Thus hide me in a tinkler.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

Sir, ye appear a cunning man,
But this fine plot you'll fail in,
For there is neither pot nor pan
Of mine you'll drive a nail in.
Then bind your budget on your back,
And nails up in your apron,
For I've a tinkler under tack
That's us'd to clout my caldron.
Fa adrie, didle, didle, &c.

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 learn'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.

Bonny BESSY.

[_]

Tune, Bessy's Haggies.

Bessy 's beauties shine sae bright,
Were her many vertues fewer,
She wad ever give delight,
And in transport make me view her.

Bonny Bessy, thee alane
Love I, naithing else about thee;
With thy comeliness I'm tane,
And langer cannot live without thee.

Bessy 's bosom's saft and warm,
Milk-white fingers still employ'd,
He who takes her to his arm,
Of her sweets can ne'er be cloy'd.
My dear Bessy, when the roses
Leave thy cheek, as thou grows aulder,
Vertue, which thy mind discloses,
Will keep love frae growing caulder.

Bessy 's tocher is but scanty,
Yet her face and soul discovers
These inchanting sweets in plenty
Must intice a thousand lovers.
It's not money, but a woman
Of a temper kind and easy,
That gives happiness uncommon,
Petted things can nought but teez ye.

The Quadruple Alliance.

[_]

Tune, Jocky blyth and gay.

Swift , Sandy, Young, and Gay,
Are still my heart's delight,
I sing their sangs by day,
And read their tales at night.
If frae their books I be,
'Tis dullness then with me;
But when these stars appear,
Jokes, smiles and wit shine clear.

Swift with uncommon stile,
And wit that flows with ease,
Instructs us with a smile,
And never fails to please.
Bright Sandy gladly sings
Of heroes, Gods, and kings:
He well deserves the bays,
And every Briton's praise.

While thus our Homer shines:
Young with Horacian flame,
Corrects these false designs
We push in love of fame.
Blyth Gay in pawky strains,
Makes villains clowns and swains
Reprove, with biting leer,
Those in a higher sphere.

Swift, Sandy, Young, and Gay,
Long may you give delight;
Let all the dunces bray,
You're far above their spite:
Such, from a malice sour,
Write nonsense, lame and poor,
Which never can succeed,
For, who the trash will read?

The Complaint

To B. I. G.

[_]

To the Tune of, When absent, &c.

When absent from the Nymph I love,
I'd fain shake off the Chains I wear;
But whilst I strive these to remove,
More Fetters I'm oblig'd to bear.

My captiv'd Fancy Day and Night
Fairer and fairer represents
Bellinda form'd for dear Delight,
But cruel Cause of my Complaints.

All Day I wander through the Groves,
And sighing hear from ev'ry Tree
The happy Birds chirping their Loves,
Happy compar'd with lonely me.
When gentle sleep with balmy Wings
To Rest fan's ev'ry weary'd Wight,
A thousand Fears my Fancy brings,
That keep me watching all the Night.

Sleep flies, while like the Godess fair,
And all the Graces in her Train,
With melting Smiles and killing Air
Appears the Cause of all my Pain.
A while my Mind delighted flies,
O'er all her Sweets with thirling Joy,
Whilst Want of Worth makes Doubts arise,
That all my trembling Hopes destroy.

Thus while my Thoughts are fix'd on her,
I'm all o'er Transport and Desire:
My Pulse beats high, my Cheeks appear
All Roses, and mine Eyes all Fire.
When to my self I turn my View,
My Veins grow chill, my Cheek look wan:
Thus whilst my Fears my Pains renew,
I scarcely look or move a Man.

The young Lass contra auld Man.

The Carle he came o'er the Croft,
And his Beard new shaven,
He look'd at me, as he'd been daft,
The Carl trows that I wad hae him.

Howt awa I winna hae him!
Na forsooth I winna hae him!
For a' his Beard new shaven,
Ne'er a Bit will I hae him.

A siller Broach he gae me niest,
To fasten on my Curtchea nooked,
I wor'd a wi upon my Breast;
But soon alake! the Tongue o't crooked;
And sae may his, I winna hae him.
Na forsooth, I winna hae him!
An twice a Bairn's, a Lass's Jest;
Sae ony Fool for me may hae him.

The Carle has na Fault but ane;
For he has Land and Dollars Plenty;
But wae's me for him! Skin and Bane
Is no for a plump Lass of Twenty.
Howt awa, I winna hae him,
Na forsooth, I winna hae him,
What signifies his dirty Riggs,
And Cash without a Man with them.

But shou'd my canker'd Dady gar
Me take him 'gainst my Inclination,
I warn the Fumbler to beware,
That Antlers dinna claim their Station.
Howt awa, I winna hae him!
Na forsooth, I winna hae him!
I'm flee'd to crack the haly Band,
Sae Lawty says, I shou'd na hae him.

SONG

[Up Stairs, down Stairs]

[_]

To the Tune of, Jenny beguil'd the Webster.

The auld Chorus.

Up Stairs, down Stairs,
Timber Stairs fear me.
I'm laith to lie a' Night my lane,
And Johny's bed sae near me.

O Mither dear, I 'gin to fear,
Tho' I'm baith good and bony,
I winna keep; for in my Sleep
I start and dream of Johny.
When Johny then comes down the Glen,
To woo me, dinna hinder;
But with Content gi' your Consent;
For we twa ne'er can sinder.

Better to marry, than miscarry;
For Shame and Skaith's the Clink o't,
To thole the Dool, to mount the Stool,
I downa 'bide to think o't;
Sae while 'tis Time, I'll shun the Crime,
That gars poor Epps gae whinging,
With Hainches fow, and Een sae blew,
To a' the Bedrals bindging.

Had Eppy's Apron bidden down,
The Kirk had ne'er a kend it;
But when the Word's gane thro' the Town,
Alake! how can she mend it.
Now Tam, maun face the Minister,
And she maun mount the Pillar;
And that's the Way that they maun gae,
For poor Folk has nae Siller.

Now ha'd ye'r Tongue, my Daughter young,
Replied the kindly Mither,
Get Johny's Hand in haly Band,
Syne wap ye'r Wealth together.
I'm o' the Mind, if he be kind,
Ye'll do your Part discreetly;
And prove a Wife, will gar his Life,
And Barrel run right sweetly.

Sleepy Body, drowsy Body.

I

Somnolente,
Quaeso repente,
Vigila, vive, me tange.
Somnolente, quaeso, &c

II

Cum me ambiebas,
Videri volebas
Amoris negotiis aptus;
Sed factus maritus,
Es semisopitus,
Et semper à somnio captus.

III

O sleepy Body,
And drowsy Body,
O wiltuna waken, and turn thee:
To drivel and drant,
While I sigh and gaunt,
Gives me good Reason to scorn thee.

IV

When thou shouldst be kind,
Thou turns sleepy and blind,
And snoters and snores far frae me.
Wae Light on thy Face,
Thy drowsy Embrace
Is enough to gar me betray thee.

SONG

[Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride]

To the tune of

Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Marrow;
Busk ye, busk ye, my bony Bride,
Busk and go to the Braes of Yarrow
There will we sport and gather Dew,
Dancing while Lavrock[s] sing the Morning;
There learn frae Turtles to prove true;
O Bell, ne'er vex me with thy Scorning.

To Westlin Breezes Flora yields,
And when the Beams are kindly warming,
Blythness appears o'er all the Fields,
And Nature looks mair fresh and charming.
Learn frae the Burns that trace the mead,
Tho' on their Banks the Roses blossom,
Yet hastylie they flow to Tweed,
And pour their Sweetness in his Bosom.

Hast ye, hast ye, my bony Bell,
Haste to my Arms, and there I'll guard thee,
With free Consent my Fears repel,
I'll with my Love and Care reward thee.
Thus sang I saftly to my Fair,
Wha rais'd my Hopes with kind relenting.
O Queen of Smiles, I ask nae mair,
Since now my bony Bell's consenting.

The Highland Lassie.

The Lawland Maids gang trig and fine,
But aft they're sour and unco sawsy;
Sae proud they never can be kind,
Like my good humour'd Highland Lassie.

O, my bony, bony Highland Lassie,
My heart smiling Highland Lassie,
May never Care make thee less fair,
But Bloom of Youth still bless my Lassie.

Than ony Lass in Borrowstoun,
Wha mak their Cheeks with Patches motie,
I'd tak my Katie but a Gown,
Bare footed in her little Cotie.

O my bony, &c.

Beneath the Brier or Brecken Bush,
When e'er I kiss and court my Dautie,
Happy and blyth as ane wad wish,
My Flighteren Heart gangs pittie-pattie.

O my bony, &c.

O'er highest heathery Hills I'll stenn,
With cockit Gun and Ratches tenty,
To drive the Deer out of their Den,
To feast my Lass on Dishes dainty.

O my bony, &c.

There's nane shall dare by Deed or Word
'Gainst her to wag a Tongue or Finger,
While I can weild my trusty Sword,
Or frae my Side whisk out a Whinger.

O my bony, &c.

The Mountains clad with purple Bloom,
And Berries ripe invite my Treasure,
To range with me, let great Fowk gloom,
While Wealth and Pride confound their Pleasure.

O, my bony, bony Highland Lassie,
My lovely smiling Highland Lassie,
May never Care make thee less fair,
But Bloom of Youth still bless my Lassie.

The Auld Man's Best Argument.

[_]

To the Tune of, Widow are ye wawkin.

O wha's that at my Chamber Door?
“Fair Widow are ye wawking?”
Auld Carle, your Sute give o'er,
Your Love lyes a' in tawking.
Gi'e me the Lad that's young and tight,
Sweet like an April Meadow;
'Tis sic as he can bless the Sight,
And Bosom of a Widow.

“O Widow, wilt thou let me in,
“I'm pawky, wise and thrifty,
“And come of a right gentle Kin;
“I'm little mair than Fifty.”
Daft Carle, dit your Mouth,
What signifies how pawky,
Or gentle born ye be,—bot Youth,
In Love you're but a Gawky.

“Then Widow, let these Guineas speak,
“That powerfully plead clinkan,
“And if they fail, my Mouth I'll steek,
“And nae mair Love will think on.”

These court indeed, I maun confess,
I think they make you young, Sir,
And ten Times better can express
Affection, than your Tongue, Sir.

SONG

[I have a green Purse and a wee pickle Gowd]

[_]

To the Tune of, A Rock and a wee pickle Tow.

I have a green Purse and a wee pickle Gowd,
A Bony Piece Land and Planting on't,
It fattens my Flocks, and my Bairns it has stowd;
But the best Thing of a's yet wanting on't:
To grace it, and trace it,
And gie me Delight;
To bless me, and kiss me,
And comfort my Sight,
With Beauty by Day, and Kindness by Night
And nae mair my lane gang sauntring on't.

My Christy she's charming, and good as she's fair;
Her Een and her Mouth are inchanting sweet,
She smiles me on Fire, her Frowns gie Dispair:
I love while my Heart gaes panting wi't.
Thou fairest, and dearest,
Delight of my Mind,
Whose gracious Embraces
By Heav'n are designed:
For happiest Transports, and Blesses refind.
Nae langer delay thy granting Sweet.

For thee, Bony Christy, my Shepherds and Hynds,
Shall carefully make the Years Dainties thine:
Thus freed frae laigh Care, while Love fills our Minds,
Our Days shall with Pleasure and Plenty shine.

Then hear me, and chear me,
With smiling Consent,
Believe me, and give me
No Cause to lament,
Since I ne'er can be happy, till thou say, Content,
I'm pleas'd with my Jamie, and he shall be mine.

On the Marriage of the R. H. L. G--- and L. K--- C---.

A SONG

[_]

To the Tune of, The Highland laddie.

Brigantius.
Now all thy Virgin-sweets are mine,
And all the shining Charms, that grace thee;
My fair Melinda come recline
Upon my Breast, while I embrace thee,
And tell without dissembling Art,
My happy Raptures in thy Bosom:
Thus will I plant within thy Heart,
A Love that shall for ever blossom.

Chorus.
O the happy, happy, brave and bonny,
Sure the Gods well pleas'd behold ye;
Their work admire, so great, so fair,
And well in all your Joys uphold ye.

Melinda.
No more I blush, now that I'm thine,
To own my Love in Transport tender,
Since that so brave a Man is mine,
To my Brigantius I surrender.

By sacred Ties I'm now to move
As thy exalted Thoughts direct me;
And while my Smiles engage thy Love,
Thy manly Greatness shall protect me.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Brigantius.
Soft fall thy Words, like Morning-dew,
New Life on blowing Flowers bestowing:
Thus kindly yielding makes me bow
To Heaven, with Spirit grateful glowing.
My Honour, Courage, Wealth and Wit,
Thou dear Delight, my chiefest Treasure,
Shall be imployd as thou thinks fit,
As Agents for our Love and Pleasure.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Melinda
With my Brigantius I could live
In lovely Cotts, beside a Mountain,
And Nature's easy Wants relieve,
With Shepherds Fare, and quaff the Fountain,
What pleases thee, the rural Grove,
Or Congress of the Fair and Witty,
Shall give me Pleasure with thy Love,
In Plains retir'd or social City.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Brigantius.
How sweetly canst thou charm my Soul,
O lovely Sum of my Desires!
Thy Beauties all my Cares controul,
Thy Virtue all that's Good inspires.
Tune every Instrument of Sound,
Which all the Mind divinely raises,
Till every Height and Dale rebounds,
Both loud and sweet, my Darling's Praises.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Melinda.
Thy Love gives me the brightest Shine,
My Happiness is now completed,
Since all that's generous, great and fine,
In my Brigantius is united;
For which I'll study thy Delight,
With kindly Tale the Time beguiling,
And round the Change of Day and Night;
Fix throughout Life a constant smiling.

Chorus.
O the happy, &c.

Jenny Nettles.

Saw ye Jenny Nettles,
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles,
Saw ye Jenny Nettles
Coming frae the Market;
Bag and Baggage on her Back,
Her Fee and Bountith in her Lap;
Bag and Baggage on her Back,
And a Babie in her Oxter.

I met ayont the Kairny,
Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles,
Singing till her Bairny,
Robin Rattles' Bastard;
To flee the Dool upo' the Stool,
And ilka ane that mocks her,
She round about seeks Robin out,
To stap it in his Oxter.

Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Robin Rattle, Robin Rattle;
Fy, fy! Robin Rattle,
Use Jenny Nettles kindly:
Score out the Blame, and shun the Shame,
And without mair Debate o't,
Take hame your Wain, make Jenny fain,
The leal and leesome Gate o't.

For the Sake of Some-body.

For the Sake of Some-body,
For the Sake of Some-body;
I cou'd wake a Winter Night,
For the Sake of Some-body:

I am gawn to seek a Wife,
I am gawn to buy a Plaidy;
I have three Stane of Woo,
Carling, Is thy Daughter ready?

For the Sake of Some-body, &c.

Betty, Lassy, say't thy sell,
Tho' thy Dame be ill to shoo,
First we'll buckle, then we'll tell,
Let her flyte and syne come too:
What signifies a Mither's Gloom,
When Love and Kisses come in Play?
Shou'd we wither in our Bloom,
And in Simmer mak nae Hay?

For the Sake, &c.

She.
Bony Lad, I carena by,
Tho' I try my Luck with thee,
Since ye are content to tye
The Haff-mark Bridal Band wi' me;
I'll slip hame and wash my Feet,
And steal on Linnings fair and clean,
Syne at the trysting Place we'll meet,
To do but what my Dame has done.

For the Sake, &c.

He.
Now my lovely Betty gives
Consent in sic a heartsome Gate,
It me frae a' my Care relieves,
And Doubts that gart me aft look blate:

Then let us gang and get the Grace,
For they that have an Apetite
Shou'd eat:—And Lovers shou'd embrace;
If these be Faults, 'tis Nature's Wyte.

For the Sake, &c.

THE GENEROUS GENTLEMAN.

[_]

A SANG to the Tune of, The bony Lass of Branksom

As I came in by Tiviot Side,
And by the Braes of Branksom,
There first I saw my bony Bride,
Young, smiling, sweet and handsome:
Her Skin was safter than the Down,
And white as Alabastar;
Her Hair a shining wavy Brown;
In Straightness nane surpast her;

Life glow'd upon her Lip and Cheek,
Her clear Een were surprising,
And beautifully turn'd her Neck,
Her little Breasts just rising:
Nae Silken Hose, with Gooshets fine,
Or Shoon with glancing Laces,
On her fair Leg, forbad to shine,
Well shapen native Graces.

Ae little Coat, and Bodice white,
Was Sum of a' her Claithing;
Even these o'er mickle; . . . mair Delyte
She'd given cled wi' naithing:
She leand upon a flowry Brae,
By which a Burny troted;
On her I glowr'd my Saul away,
While on her Sweets I doated.

A thousand Beauties of Desert,
Before had scarce allarm'd me,
'Till this dear Artless struck my Heart,
And bot designing, charm'd me.
Hurry'd by Love, close to my Breast
I grasp'd this Fund of Blisses:
Wha smil'd, and said, Without a Priest,
Sir, hope for nought but Kisses.

I had nae Heart to do her Harm,
And yet I coudna want her;
What she demanded, ilka Charm
Of her's pled, I shou'd grant her.
Since Heaven had dealt to me a Rowth,
Straight to the Kirk I led her,
There plighted her my Faith and Trowth,
And a young Lady made her.

The Cock Laird

A Cock Laird fou cadgie,
With Jenny did meet,
He haws'd her, he kiss'd her
And ca'd her his Sweet.
Wilt thou gae alang
Wi' me, Jenny, Jenny?
Thou'se be my ain Lemmane,
Jo Jenny, quoth he.

If I gae alang w'ye,
Ye mauna fail,
To feast me with Cadells
And good Hacket-kail.

The Deel's in your Nicety,
Jenny, quoth he,
Mayna Bannocks of Bear-meal
Be as good for thee.

And I maun hae Pinners,
With Pearling set round,
A Skirt of Puddy,
And a wastcoat of broun.
Awa with sic Vanities,
Jenny, quoth he,
For Kurchies and Kirtles
Are fitter for thee.

My Lairdship can yield me
As meikle a Year,
As had us in Pottage
And good knockit Beer:
But having nae Tenants,
O Jenny, Jenny,
To buy ought I ne'er have
A Penny, quoth he.

The Borrowstoun Merchants
Will sell ye on Tick,
For we man hae braw Things,
Abiet they soud break,
When broken, frae Care
The Fools are set free,
When we make them Lairds
In the Abbey, quoth she.